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MISTRESS NAN 



PLAYS AND POEMS 

BY AN AMERICAN AUTHOR 



^* <^* ^* 



^ 



Frederic Walter Norcross 



'TO her who is more to man than wife, 

Or sister, father, brother: 
I deJicate these Plays anj Poems, 
To my best friend— my mother. 



PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY 

THE CHISWICK PRESS 

1902 









THE LIBRARY OF 

COHORESS, 
Two CoPiee RECctvco 

SEP. 25 1902 

ft OflP^^WKT W WV 

CTLASSO^XXn. Na 

cof^ a 



COPYRIGHT: 

1902 
Frederic Walter Norcross 



CONTENTS 



Frontispiece 6 

Explanation 10 

Fanny Davenport's Contract 11 

Mistress Nan 15 

Poems 69 

Long Ago 70 

A Thought 72 

Lines to My Lady's Bracelet 73 

To Bronte 73 

Life's Voyager 74 

Youth's Dream 74 ■ 

Our Nancy 75 

His Ideal 76 

Voices of the Soul 77 

The Poets 78 

Ties • 79 

Stick To It 79 

Her Gloves 80 

Soliloquy 80 

Hymn 80 

Hadley 81 

MEDITATldNS 160 

Great Men and Others 160 

Men and Women 162 

Religion 163 



EXPLANATION 



This is a private edition of a few hundred copies. 

The author is a Philadelphia journalist. 

At the age of 22 he wrote "Mistress Nan," a drama which 
attracted the attention of America's great emotional actress, 
Fanny Davenport. 

Miss Davenport was enthusiastic over the merits of the work, 
declaring it to be " ///t^ t/;-c7;;/(7 / liavc bcoi lookiiiij:, for iJicsc ten 
years past." 

As the actress had been producing the plays of Victorien 
Sardou, the world's greatest dramatist, this was a rare compli- 
ment to the young author on his first attempt at play-writing. 

Fanny Davenport hastened to secure the play by contract 
and a date was set in November. 189S, for producing "Mistress 
Nan" at the Walnut St. Theatre, Philadelphia. 

In the early fall of that year Fanny Davenport died, and as a 
result "Mistress Nan" was not produced. 

Meanwhile " Hadley," a play of a very different character, 
was written. In some respects it is superior to its predecessor. 
Marie Burroughs pronounced it " a most interesting play;" and 
W. N. Lawrence, manager of Daniel Frohman's Lyceum Theatre, 
New York City, wrote of it: " If my opiniott is icortli anytiii)ig, 
it is a good play. 

Both dramas appear in this volume. 

The poems were written at odd intervals. 

This book is presented, (1) with the hope of awakening the 
theatrical world to recognition of the dramatic merit of the plays ; 
(2) to possibly impress the literary world with the fact that all 
authors do not sit in high places, and (3) to draw a tear or a 
smile and possibly give a little encouragement, or (at the least) 
an interesting half hour to some friend perusing these pages. 



^acj^tmtfe of ;^ann^ ©<it)enporf 6 
^ontvcid for "(mietnee (Han." 






MEMORANDUM OF AGREEMENT 

made and entered into this second day of RIarcIt, one thousand eight hundred 
and ninety-eight, by and between FREDERIC W. NORCROSS, party of 
the first part and FANNY DAVENPORT, party of the second part, 

WITNESSETH: 

71m t said .parties, in consideration of the sum of one dollar by each to the 
other in hand paid, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged, and other 
valuable consideration, agreed to and with each other as follows: — 

FIRST: The party of the first part shall and will and hereby does grant 
unto the party of the second part and ilie said party of the second part accepts 
the sole and exclusive right, license and privilege to produce and represent 
or cause to be produced and represented in the United States, the play entitled 
"MISTRESS A^AN," of which the said party of the first part is the author 
and proprietor, for and during the theatrical season of 1898-1899 com- 
mencing on or about the 1st day of November, 1898, and ending on or about 
the 1st day of April, 1899, on the following terms and conditions: — 

SECOND: The said party of the second part shall and will pay to the said 
party of the first part, five hundred dollars, which said sum shall be on account 
of royalties to be paid by said party of the second pari to the said party of the 
first part as hereinafter provided. 

THIRD: The royalties for the license herein gra>ited, shall be tiventy 
dollars a performance and shall be paid by said party of the second part to 
said party of the first part on the day of the iveek following the week 

in "a'Jiich performances of said play are given under this agreement. 

FOURTH: This agreement, on the request of said party of the second 
part shall be extended' for the season of 1899-1900 on the same terms and 
conditions excepting that during said season, the royalty shall be fifty ($50.) 
dollars for each performance, and on like request shall be extended for the 
season of 1900-1901, on the same terms and conditions excepting that during 
said last mentioned season, the royalty shall^^be one hundred dollars (flOO) for 
each performance; provided always, the said request is made by said party of 
the second part to said party of the first part in writing at least two months 
before the expiration of each season. 



FIFTH: This agreement is made by the said party of the second part on 
the representation by said party of the first part, that the said play is an 
original play composed and written by the said party of the first part and is 
not taken from any printed book or work; that the said party of the first part 
is the sole and exclusive author and owner and that the title of said play is 
original with said party of the first part. 

SIXTH- The said party of the first part shall and will, on the demand 
and request of the said party of the second part, protect the said play from 
any infringement. 

IN WITNESS WHEREOF the parties hereto have hereunto set their 
hands and seals the day and year first above written. 

IN THE PRESENCE OF 



d^f^ii^^^'i^^ 




The parties to the above agreement have, for the like consideration, FUR- 
THER AGREED to and with each other, that the party of the first part 
shall and will, before selling or in any way disposing of the right to produce 
said play in the kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, offer to the party of 
the second part, the said right on the same terms and conditions as the party 
of the first part can secure from any other party; and if the said party of the 
second part shall accept said offer within fifteen days after receiving written 
notice thereof, she shall have the sole and exclusive right to produce said play 
in said Kingdom. 

FANNY DAVENPORT. 

A. J. DITTENHOEFER, Atty. 



(Note. — At the request of Mrs. MacDowell, I consented to change the 
royalties for the third season from $100 for each performance to 10 per 
cent, of the gross receipts; my faith in the success of "Mistress Nan," 
being so great that I believed it would amount to the same thing. Miss 
Davenport's lawyers informed me that $100 a performance was a larger 
royalty than she ever paid Sardou for La Tosca, Cleopatra, or Gismonda. — 
F. W. N.) 



MISTRESS NAN 

(A Drama of the American revolution in 3 acts) 



Publishers^ Flay Producers, Dramatists, Amateurs, and others, are warned not to use all 
or any part of this play without permission of the author. This book is covered by copyright; 
Mistress Nan is protected by copyright, and Act 111 has its own copyright. Any who disregard 
this warning will have to pay damages on the infringement oi three copyrights. 

Address all communications to F. IV. NORCROSS,Sl4I No. Broad St., Philadelphia, Pa. 



^ In His Majesty's Service. 



AUTHOR'S NOTE :— The battle of Camden, fought August l&h, 1780, 
scattered the American army under General Gates, leaving South 
Carolina helpless under British domination. The play is based upon 
a slight historical incident which occurred a few days after the battle. 



CAST. 

Colonel Arley Wilde, 

Captain Amos Hawley, 

Sir Toby Fillip, 

Sir Anthony Baxter, 

Lieutenant Jones, 

Lieutenant Faraday, 

George Sanborn, a patriot serving in the Carolina Militia. 

Osprey, a patriot spy in the British ranks. ] 

Sergeant,] 

Messenger, 

Toby, ^ 

Ezra, v servants, 

Paul, ) 

Dorothy, Nan's sister, 

Nell, 



Nan's cousins, 
Peggy, 

MISTRESS NAN. 

British soldiery, cavalrymen, negroes, 
patriot soldiery, etc. 

Act L — Tlie Hall in Willington Manor, near Camden, 
South Carolina. 

Act IL — The same. {The following evening.) 

Act 111.— Three hours later. 

TIME, 1780. 



[To those unacquainted with the stage let me explain that the letters and figures which appear 
throughout the plays, signify the portion of the stage the actor is to take as he faces the audience; 
R. is right : l., U/t ; c, center ; c. B., center hack ; R. 1 E., right first entrance : L. 1 E., left 
first entrance, etc.^ 



MISTRESS NAN. 1 5 



ACT I. 

SCENE. — ,4 richly jurnished colonial hall of the Revolutionary 
period. Broad, high casement at c. b. with curtains pushed wide. 
Visible gallery extending across stage above, with stairway leading 
down at r. Broad fireplace with burning logs and high mantel at 
L. L. 1 E., a hallway; table at l. c. ; small cabinet at l. 1 e. contain- 
ing two pistols; curtains before doorway l. 2 e.; door r. 1 e. 

(Nell and Peggy at open casement, c, gazing off r. Dorothy 
a^L. c. Drum beats in distance off R. B.) 

Nell. They are coming, Dorothy. 

Dor. (indifferently). I hear them. 

Peg. {clapping hands). Look, Nell — See the long line of 
red-coats as they file from out the wood. La, but I do love 
soldiery. 

Dor. I like not your British. 

Nell, (over shoulder). Fie, Dot, you are a rebel. 

Peg. (shaking head with comic seriousness at Dor.) Alack; 
were Armand Osprey on the British side, our Dot would shout 
the loudest for the King. 

Dor. (pettishly). And rightly so! My head can't under- 
stand one-half of what 'tis all about. But this I know; King 
George now fights against my Osprey; so why, girls, should I 
love King George? 

(Faint galloping of Jwofs off r. b.) 

Peg. (at window, joyously). They are coming, girls. 

Nell, (ivaving kerchief from casement). Bravo! 

Dor. (going up ami seizing Nell's ivrist). Don't, Nell! 
'Tis bad enough that we must welcome them within the house. 
See their poor prisoners. 

Nell. A ragged lot, I call them. Some have no shoes, 
much less a uniform. 

Peg. (excitedly). Look, Nell! Look, Dot! 'Tis Colonel 
Wilde who rides across the field! How gallantly he sits his 
horse. See, he doffs his hat. 

Nell, (rapturously). Oh, Heavens — what a figure! There! 
He is a man who suits me well, and a gentleman withal — Oh! 
(exclamation from, Peggy and Nell). 



1 6 MISTRESS NAN. 

Dor. (quickly). What now, girls? 

Peg. He kissed his hand. 

Dor. (primly coming down c). Then he is not a gentleman. 
His manners are bold. 

Nell, (aside to Peg at window). Dot cares not for them, 
but / do. Just think, Peg, to have a dozen British in the house 
at once! 

Peg. (facing Nell anxiously.) Are my ribbons straight? 

Nell. Yes, dear — and mine? 

Peg. Perfect, (galloping louder off r. b.). Alack, Nell, 
I know I'll fall in love. I never could resist their uniform. 
(coming doivn c. and clasping Dor. around waist). Put on a 
cheerful face, dear Dot, for Nan, you know, would have us receive 
them well. 

Dor. (sighing). Why is Nan such a Tory? 

Nell, (at window, xvaving kerchief). 'Tis all the fashion 
since the defeat of Gates at Camden. A fool is he who don't 
shout with the victor. 

Dor. (with spirit). But Nan acts not that way. Her 
loyalty has been no secret from the first. We have entertained 
the British since they came to Carolina. 

Peg. (at casement). They're here, girls. La, what a show 
they make! (T^or. joins girls at casement. Peg and 1^ ell wave 
kerchiefs. Galloping ceases off r. Noise of men's voices and 
stamping hoofs. Toby enters l. 2 e., crosses stage and exits r. 1 e.) 

(Enter Capt. Hawley, Sir Anthony Baxter, and Lieu- 
tenants Jones and Faraday at r. 1 e. Ladies curtsy as officers 
bow.) 

Capt. H. Sweet mistresses, we crave your hospitality. We 
know of old that that which Willington affords is of the best. 
The virtues and beauty of its charming hostesses are known 
throughout the army. 

Dor. (curtsying). At my sister Nan's command, the hos- 
pitality of Willington is yours. 

Capt. H. And not at your command, sweet mistress? 

Dor. At Willington, my sister's wishes are my own. In her 
name I bid you welcome, (ciirtsys.) 

Nell, (archly to Sir Anthony). Mistress Nan is not the 
only one who loves the scarlet uniform. 

Sir a. Is't so? I swear I'll wear the uniform through life 
if yon say that ! 

Lt. Jones (who, with Faraday, is pressing Peg with com- 
pliments). Indeed, you have grown prettier! 

Lt. F. (with broad English accent.) Upon my life 'tis true; 
upon my life. 



^ 



MISTRESS NAN. 1 7 

Peg. (in kittenish manner). La, gentlemen, I'll not believe 
a word you say. 

Capt. H. {to Dor.). Colonel Wilde further begs permission 
to use your stables for our prisoners. 

Sir a. {laughing boisterously). Wilde begs permission. 
Faith — that's good! If I mistake not, Hawley, the prisoners 
are quartered there already. 

Capt. H. {severely). Sir Anthony, your tongue is apt to 
tattle. Pray put a check to it. {to Dor.) Think you that 
Mistress Nan can spare the stables? 

Dor. {resignedly). I dare say. Captain, she would spare 
her house and lands and servants; and walk barefoot, methinks, 
if once convinced that it would serve the King. I dare say, 
also, that Sir Anthony is right about Colonel Wilde. 

Capt. H. He is a rough soldier. Mistress, but a good one. The 
man seems made of iron and for hard service we have no better 
officer in all the army. Wilde has two enemies — the bottle and 
his good "friend," Gowan. To consort with either sends a man 
to quick perdition. 

Nell. We have heard reports of Colonel Gowan. 

Peg. {ivith horrified schoolgirl emphasis). I hear he hangs 
his prisoners. 

Sir a. Faith, that is the least of all his sins. 

Lt. F. {laughing). Upon my life, 'tis true — upon my life! 

Dor. He is a cruel, wicked man. I trust we'll never see 
his face at Willington. 

Sir a. Faith, mistress, your trust is doomed to disappoint- 
ment, for Gowan joins us here with his detachment. 

Dor. {horrified). What! That monster here? 

Capt. H. {to Sir Anthony). Sir Anthony, again your 
tongue is indiscreet, {to Dor.) Mistress, be not alarmed. 
We march immediately when Gowan comes. Go to your room 
and you will never see his face. 'Tis good advice, I think. 
The fellow has a wicked eye for women. 

Sir A. {laughing). Oh, virtuous Hawley ! {Looks off r. 1 e.) 
But here is Colonel Wilde. 

{Enter Colonel Arley Wilde.) 

Wilde, {boiving slightly). Ladies, your servant, {crosses 
c.) Hey — where is Mistress Willington? Does she not re- 
ceive us? {to Dor.) Demme, Mistress Dot, you are improv- 
ing. A pretty wench 3'ou have become. Keep away from my 
friend Gowan — he has a dangerous way with women, as you'll 
soon find, {endeavors to touch Dor. familiarly under the chin.) 

Sir a. Faith the same words have scarce left Hawley's 
lips. 



1 8 MISTRESS NAN. 

Dor. (shrinking from Wilde). My sister will shortly at- 
tend you here. She bade me give you welcome in her name. 

Wilde (coarsely). Welcome? Curse these provincials with 
their airs. My thanks to Mistress Nan for not forbidding us the 
house. I would Gowan were here. He would break her 
haughtiness. Demme, but Gowan would break anything. 
What devil's work is he at now, I wonder? 

Sir A. Ogling a pretty woman, 'tis like enough. 

Lt. J. Or pilfering an honest rustic. 

Lt. F. Burning a church, upon my life! 

Sir a. Or at his favorite pastime of hanging some poor 
provincial. 

Capt. H. And beastly drunk, at whatever game he plays. 

Dor. (to Capt. H.). I dare say Nan will welcome him for 
all. His uniform will blind her to his sins. 

Wilde, (to Dor.). Demme, 'tis her one redeeming feature. 
Mistress Nan is the hottest of your Tories. 

Sir a. Faith, I believe she would wade through fire for the 
cause. 

Capt. H. Her zeal is known, and makes her m.uch admired 
in the army. I myself have heard Cornwallis speak of her as 
the most charming belle in all Carolina. 

Wilde. Demme, I put no trust in women. Their weakness 
is a snare to draw men on. Their prejudices govern reason; they 
gossip, gad and live on scandal. Their wills are weak, but as for 
temper — Gods! Their tempers wave and burn beneath a mild 
exterior to burst like twenty magazines all in a moment. 

Capt. H. Your ignorance of women is profound. But for 
the humor of it, the ladies would be shocked at such ungallant 
speech. 

Wilde. But I'll admit that Mistress Nan is loyal. What 
was the story that passed around the mess? Something about 
a lover, was it not? She jilted him when he took arms against 
the King. 

Capt. H. Fie, Wilde! The subject is scarce fit for present 
company. 

Nell. Nay, we do not mind. The tale is true, and caused 
much gossip. Our family all knew George Sanborn well, and 
Nan, methinks, cared more for him than any other. Yet 
when he took the rebels' side, his chances went like smoke. 
She would see naught of him from that day on, and swore that 
were he dying at her feet, she would not stoop to give him aid. 

Dor. Yet, Nan owes him much. He saved her life some ten 
years back. 

Sir a. And how came that? 



MISTRESS NAN. 1 9 

Dor. Her little boat upset upon the Wateree. She screamed, 
the water filled her mouth and eyes. There was a fearful gulp- 
ing in her throat ; the noise of twenty storms within her ears. She 
rose and sank again, and was for going down once more when 
suddenly there came a shout and plunge. It was George San- 
born leaping from the bridge. He saved her life. 

Nell. Alack — what gentleman could do otherwise ? He was 
there; he could swim. His handsome coat alone suffered from 
the bath. It was no great matter. 

Dor. {to Nell). The matter was great enough for Nan. 

Wilde. And yet, she jilted him? Curse me, that is a 
woman's gratitude! 

Dor. You mean her loyalty. And yet, methinks my sister 
loves George Sanborn. 

Wilde. What? Mistress Nan of Willington in love with a 
damned rebel? Impossible! 

Dor. Nay; not so impossible as you think. But three days 
back, when the news of Camden's battle came, her joy at the 
British victory was checked all of a sudden. She questioned 
the messenger of those who fell on the rebel side, and when he 
said their officers were lying thick upon the field, she suddenly 
became morose and went up to her room. I found her there in 
tears, and, (though she did not know I saw), a miniature of 
George Sanborn was clasped within her hand. 

Wilde. What happened then? 

Dor. On seeing me she became herself all in a moment, and 
sweeping down the stairs, ordered the greatest feast that Willing- 
ton had known for years. That night we had all the neighbor- 
hood to dine, and my sister, more brilliant and beautiful than 
e'er before, was toasting the British victory. 

Wilde. A strange method of mourning for one's lover. 
{Laughter. The group draw nearer casement laughing and 
chatting. Wilde and Sir A. come doivn l. by fireplace.) {Aside 
to Sir a.). Curse me, I wonder where friend Go wan is? 

Sir a. Within an hour's march of the Wateree ere this. 

Wilde. {flushed ivith ivine, to Sir A.). We- wagered last 
night across our wine; a devil's wager, too, but one in which 
two merry devils were engaged. My Gowan says: "By all the 
Gods I know of, Wilde, there is but one woman in Carolina 
worth the winning." And laughing across my glass I said: 
"Mistress Nan of Willington." "Even so. Mistress Nan," re- 
plied my Gowan; "she has too much of that demmed inconven- 
ient quality the world calls Virtue. What say you if we try 
our arts upon the wench?" "A merry game," I shouted, and 
then as we drank to our success, it was arranged that the man 



20 MISTRKSS KAN. 

who won the beauty was to pay the other a crown, to console 
him for his loss. No sooner was the wager made than Gowan 
was called away to do some work beyond the river. Demme 
the man swore lustily, for I stood there and shouted after him, 
"Hola, mv Gowan, wilt take the crown now or when you ar- 
rive at Willington? " And he replied: "Win her to-night, friend 
Wilde, for to-morrow when 1 arrive, I'll use persuasion that 
will bring the beauty to terms within an hour." At which he 
rode awav and that in humor which boded ill for rebels whom 
he met. {aloud, impatiently). But, demme. is Mistress 
Nan never coming down? 

(Enter Mistress Nan /';/ gallery above.) 

Dor. My sister is coming now. 

Nak. (t>;/ stairway). Welcome, gentlemen, to Willington! 
The day well honors us that brings King George's troops to our 
poor homestead! {o]fieers, exeepting Wilde, bon' lon'.) 

Wilde [surlily). Mistress, we have had to wait some min- 
utes for your welcome. 

Nan. (sniiliug). I crave your pardon for it. If I delayed, 
'twas but to make myself more fit to meet this gallant company. 

Wilde. Your speech is good; I would your actions were as 
well. I have some doubts of welcomes which are long delayed. 

Nan. {leith a toiteh of haughtiness). If Colonel Wilde be- 
lieves he is not welcome, I shall not press him to remain. 

Capt. H. (quickly). Mistress, you are unjust. You will 
not censure us for being angered at your absence? Methinks 
our Colonel's impatience is somewhat of a compliment. 

Nan. (exie)iJi)ig Jiand to Wilde). There, Colonel, I freely 
ask forgiveness. 'Tis well you have a Captain to make such 
gallant interpretation of your speech, (stniles at Capt. H.) 
I admit the compliment was somewhat clouded, and my poor 
head failed to receive it. But there, my error and your flattery 
are clear at last. 

Wilde (aside). Curse it: a bad beginning, (aloud, kiss- 
ing Nan's liand gallantly). Mistress, friend Hawley's speech 
is l3ut too true; for Arley Wilde is patient of no other company 
when the peerless Mistress Nan is near. A smile from her will 
banish the longest campaign. 

Nan. (li'ith animation). Yes, tell me of the campaign ! The 
rebels are all scattered: are they not? Alack, you must be in- 
consolable. 

Wilde. Inconsolable, why so? 

Nan. (surprised). Why so? Because there are none left to 
fight ! I would I were a man to wear a sword and meet the 
rebels. 



MISTRESS NAN. 21 

Capt. H. (<^a//a ;///_)'). I'll wager they would be conquered 
at sight of you. (Nan syHilcs.) 

Nan. Were I a soldier, I could wish to battle every day. 

Wilde (laughing). Demme, Mistress, too much war, like 
too much of other things, will grow monotonous. 

Nan. But, oh, it must be grand! The troops — the bright 
red uniforms — the rush of heavy cavalry — the pennants flying 
in the breeze — the music of the bands. Alack, the roar of 
battle must be sweet to soldier cars! 

Capt. H. A bullet hums a lively tune which may end in a 
dirge. 

Nan. (impatiently). Faith, you'll convince me you are no 
soldiers. But for your reputations one would swear you loved 
not your profession. But tell me of the battle which cleared 
Carolina of the rebels. 'Twas a night attack at Camden; was 
it not? A guinea would I have given to see the rebels run. 

Capt. H. Run they did, and with good reason; our cavalry 
was behind. 

Sir a. Nay — more than that. They were among them, 
like wolves am.id a flock of sheep. 

Wilde. And hacking at tlieir heads. Demme, I never saw 
an army scatter so. 

Nan. (anxiously). Think you the rebel power is broken in 
Carolina f' 

Wilde. I'll swear you cannot find a band within two hundred 
miles. 

Nan. I am glad ! I am glad ! The insolents ; they well deserve 
their beating! And to think that some of our best Caro- 
lina and Virginia families side with that crew of rebels! Out 
upon them all! Now, I'm for King George. My father knew 
the King, and was his friend. Alack, I have no patience with 
those who side against our monarch. 

Capt. H. Fair mistress, we are well convinced of that. 

Nan. And the prisoners, Colonel? How many rebels do 
you take to Charleston? 

Wilde. Two hundred, mistress; and curse me, a beggarly 
two hundred, too. You'll have to clean your stables after them. 
(Laughter from ojjiccrs.) 

Nan. They are well guarded? 

Wilde. Five men can guard them now. We have naught 
to fear from an attack, for demme, there are no rebels left. 

Nan. The stables are well enough for rebels. My house and 
its best entertainment I reserve for the King's brave officers. 
We will have a feast anon, in honor of the victory. Gentlemen, 
the best of Willington is yours, as well it should be. I ask but 



22 MISTRKSS NAN. 

m 

one favor in return, and that is that there be no drinking in 
this hah. My father died in here and for five years it has not 
rung with merriment. But see, {goes up pointing off l. 2. e.) 
there is our goodly banquet room which is at your command. 
Toby will serve you there. He'll bring your wine and punch. 
Our cellars are well stocked, and as for punch, I've given orders 
it shall be at your service night and day. You see I know a 
soldier's habits well. Gentlemen, once more I bid you welcome 
to Willington. {Cnrtsys l. c. Officers applaud.) 

Capt. H. a peerless hostess! 

Lt. |. Egad I never saw another half so thoughtful. 

Lt. F. Upon my life 'tis true, upon my life! 

Sir a. My first health shall be to thee, sweet Mistress Nan I 

Nell, {aside, plucking liis slce-ee). Fie! You told me the 
very thing a moment since! 

Sir a. {to Nell). I shall fill a double bumper and drink to 
both! 

, Wilde. Mistress, we accept your hospitality until friend 
Gowan comes. With him we march to Charleston with these 
prisoners, {aside) And curse nie, much as I love m}^ Gowan, 
the longer he stays this time the more I shall be satisfied. The 
wench is a hard one to approach, {galloping of hoofs off r.) 

Nan. More soldiery? Who is it now? {nins to casement 
and looks r.) 
. Sir a. Gowan, I'll wager. 

Capt. H. More likely Sir Toby, whom we left beyond the 
river. 

Nan {looking from casement). It is Sir Toby. Alack, he 
comes not a moment too soon to escape the storm. See how 
the clouds have barked themselves beyond the hilltops, {stormy 
aspect leithout. Nan looking intently r. leJiile leaning on sill of 
casement. ) What's that ? Nay — 'tis impossible ! Yes ; a woman 
rides strapped behind a trooper, {turning to Wilde) Alack. 
Colonel, do you make women prisoners? 

Wilde. At times. 

Capt. H. Faith, mistress, 'tis they who generally capture 
us. 

Nan. But not so now; and see, she is old. The ride is rough 
for one like her. {galloping ivhich has grown louder, ceases off 
r. 1 E. Voices.) 

{Enter Sir Toby Fillip r. i. e.) 

Sir Toby {bending over Nan's hand). Mistress Nan, I 
salute thee. Your pardon, ladies, {crosses to Wilde at l. c. 
Aside) The work is done, and done well. That rebel nest is 
gone. 



MISTRESS NAN. 23 

Wilde (aside to Sir Toby). You lost no men? 

Sir T. Not one. They did not fight; they merely prayed to 
spare their homes. 

Wilde. And then? 

Sir T. (laughing). Then? Faith I applied the torch and 
out they came like hornets — hornets, however, that have no 
sting. We left a few burnt logs and heaps of ashes. That 
rebel village will trouble us no more. 

Wilde. Well done. And this prisoner? 

Sir T. Egad, no prisoner. Merely a wretched gypsy we 
picked up on the road, (turning to Nan) Mistress Nan, with 
your permission I'll bring in my prize. Her trade is fortune 
telling. 

Omnes. a gypsy? 

Sir T. Aye — and an old hag at that. Egad, I thought her 
tricks would furnish amusement for the company. 

Peg. La, I do want my fortune told. 

Nell. And I. 

Nan. Pray, bring her in, for this is sport indeed. I shall 
scold you anon. Sir Toby, for her rough treatment. 

Sir T. Treatment? Egad, mistress, she is a witch and has 
no feeling. 

Nan. She is a woman. 

Sir T. Say rather an evil spirit; the stake is best for such. 
(crosses to r. 1 e.) Ho, there; bring her here! 

(Enter two soldiers in cavalry uniform with George San- 
born between them. Sanborn attired in female gypsy costume of 
bright, but worn colors. Hood or turban covers head, ears and face 
almost down to eyebrows. Walks with back bowed and face down 
holding flaps of hood so as to almost entirely conceal face. As- 
sumes cracked voice of an old woman. Soldiers roughly thrust gyp- 
sy on at R. c. Roar of laughter from officers and clapping of 
hands from Peg and Nell.) 

Wilde. Ho, ho! A pretty object, truly! (Sanborn stag- 
gers slightly, feigning exhaustion.) 

Sir a. The hag is weak. 

Sir T. (shaking gypsy's shoulder). Curse you, stand up. 
We would have a lesson in deviltry. 

Sanborn (drawing away). You need no lesson from me in 
that, (laughter from officers.) 

Capt. H. She touched you that time, Fillip. Upon my 
soul, the wench has wit. 

Dor. Poor woman! Pray, take a seat. 

Sir T. (interfering). No — no, the hag will stand before 
her betters. 



24 MISTRESS NAN. 

Wilde. I would Gowan were here. He'd make some merry 
sport with her. 

Sir T. Is't sport you want? There's nothing easier. Dance 
hag, or by my soul, your wrinkled hide shall feel the sword 
point, (draws sivord and pricks gypsy in folds of dress. San- 
born draws aivay.) 

Dor. (grasping Sir Toby's sivord blade). No — no, 'tis cruel. 

Sir T. (trying to disengage blade). Away, mistress, or you 
will cut those pretty fingers. (Wilde laughs l. c. Sir Anthony 
has drawn sword at l. c, when Nan comes down c.) 

Nan. Enough. We do not like your sport. Sir Toby. It 
scarce befits a gentleman. (Sir Toby and Sir A. laugh and 
sheathe swords. To gypsy). Do you tell fortunes, mv good 
woman ? 

San. (looking intently at Nan). To those who will believe, 
sweet mistress. 

Wilde. Then you will tell none here, for none believe vour 
cursed prattle. 

Peg. I do believe in her. I long to know my fate. 

Nell. And I. 

Nan. (to Peggy). Come, Cous, put out your hand. 

Sir T. And money. 

Peg. La, I've not a coin about me. 

Sir a. Allow me, then, (gives coin to gypsy). Come, 
wench, her palm is crossed with silver. 

San. (bouiing over Peggy's palm). I see a home of splendor 
and a loving husband. 

W^iLDE (ironically). Demme, they all see that! 

Peg. (eagerly). Is he a soldier, gypsy? Alack, I'll marry 
none other than a soldier. 

San. He is a soldier, Mistress Peg. 

Wilde (suspiciously). Mistress Peg? How know you the 
girl's name, hag? 

San. (looking at Wilde and lifting haiui). The stars know 
everything, good sir. 

Wilde. Fool, your stars are invisible now. I — 

Peg. (impatiently). Do keep him quiet! 

Nan. Hush Colonel, your speech breaks in on Peggy's fu- 
ture. 

Peg. (anxiously). His uniform is red, is't not? I will not 
have him otherwise. 

San. His uniform is blue, good mistress. He hates the red 
as he abhors his country's enemies. 

Nan. Shucks, Peg, I would have none of him. Your pre- 
dictions are at fault, good witch. 



MISTRESS NAN. 25 

San. (to Nan). Only to those who love hot their country, 
Mistress. 

Nell. 'Tis my turn now. (pushes Peggy aside). Here is 
your coin. Read well, good gypsy, and you shall not want for 
more. 

San. (studying Nell's palm). I see a doubtful future. Be- 
ware, mistress, of the flattery of men. 

Nell. Alack, I like it. 

San. It is your all-prevailing weakness. No good can come 
of such, and much harm may. 

Nell. What further do you see? 

San. I see no more. 

Sir T. Egad, she is a weary prophetess. Her entertainment 
is but poor. 

Nan. (to Dorothy). Come, Dot, 'tis your turn now. 

Dor. No, I'll not believe in witches' tales. 

San. (to Nan). Then your's, sweet mistress? 

Nan. (surprised). Mine? Alack, gypsy, I know it without 
your aid! 

Omnes. Let's hear — let's hear! 

Nan. (ivitli touch of melancholy). My fate? It will be this! 
Mistress Nan, as she is known to you, will live and die at Willing- 
ton, remaining Mistress Nan throughout. A man shall never 
feel caress of hers. She loves her country. King, and race of 
ancestors. This is all to her; 'tis faith, tradition, religion, 
one might say. In fact, her heart is sealed with loyalty. This 
is her fate as well I know. Her life may not be happy, but 
'twill be a loyal one. 

San. (li'ho has been studying Nan's face attentively). Mistress, 
your prophecy is false. A better fate awaits a face so perfect: 
a heart so pure. Your hand, sweet mistress; I beg to see your 
hand. 

Sir A. (to Wilde). Faith, the witch is moved. I thought 
she grew taller as she spoke. 

Nan. (with tinge of melancholy). You cannot alter Fate, 
poor gypsy, (gives hand to Sanborn, who eagerly examines it.) 

San. Who knows? Who knows? I see a different future, 
yet one that all these people may not hear. Mistress, sweet 
mistress, I beg an audience alone, (presses Nan's hand to his 
lips. ) 

Nan. (smiling and removing her hand). What? Leave my 
company to hear an idle tale? Not so. 

San. Mistress, I beg — 'tis an old woman's whim, and yet — 
(aside to Nan) I can read here of one you think much of. His 
life is in great peril. 



26 MISTRESS NAN. 

Nan. (startled). Eh? (laughing to cover her confusion and 
turning to Wilde). The silly witch would tell my fortune to no 
other ears than mine. Alack, it must be disagreeable. Come, 
Colonel, 'tis your turn now. 

Officers. Yes, Wilde; let's hear your fortune. 

Wilde. Demme, a soldier's fate is easily foretold. Too 
often his destiny lies in a bullet. But tell me what the stars say 
of friend Gowan? Hast heard of Gowan, hag? 

San. (vehemently). Gowan! That dog, that cur who blots 
the face of our fair land with ruin! That beast who stops not 
at arson, murder or at rape. Aye, I know Gowan, and so does 
all Carolina in its curses. His end will be no good one. 

Wilde (seizing gypsy by throat). Hag! Curb your cursed 
tongue when speaking of my Gowan! (officers release gypsy). 
I know his faults: I know his virtues. A braver man ne'er 
lived, nor better officer. War is stern, and Gowan is stern and 
cruel as war itself. He is a soldier, every inch of him. 

Capt. H. (aside to Nan). Our Colonel's manners never 
were too mild. He will not hear a word against his friend. 

Sir T. Come Wilde, we all know Gowan, and curse me but 
the gypsy's portrait fits him well. He is no saint as all well 
know, (to San.). Come, hag, a guinea for my fortune. 

San. (fiercely dashing money to floor). Your fortune? / 
read in yours the fortune of your cursed cause. Ruin and death 
await both, and that most speedily. (Toby enters l. 2 e. and 
speaks to Nan aside.) 

Wilde (furiously). Arrest the woman! 

Nan. (coming down c). Nay, wait Colonel. 

Wilde. I wait for nothing. Sergeant. 
(Enter Sergeant r. 1 e. and salutes.) 

Nan. (haughtily). Well then, have your will. Your re- 
freshment awaits you in the room within. Let us adjourn to it 
without delay. 

Capt. H. (to Wilde). Wait. Wilde! (to Nan). Mistress 
the gypsy has offended and deserves arrest. Why would you 
have her spared? 

Nan. (innocently). Alack, think you a woman is not curious? 
I long to hear the fortune she predicts for me. However, the 
Colonel wishes her arrest, and what the Colonel wishes must be 
done, (curtsying to V^ihDE). Your pardon for my interference. 

Wilde (irresolutely). Not so, not so. I did but wish to 
give the wench a lesson. 

Sir T. 'Tis ungallant, Wilde, to interrupt Mistress Nan's 
fair fortune. 

Lt. F. Upon my life 'tis true, upon my life. 



MISTRESS NAN. 27 

Capt. H. (aside to Wilde). Let her remain here while we 
feast within. She cannot get away. 

Wilde (aside). Good, (to Nan) Mistress, Arley Wilde 
cannot command in thy sweet presence, (to Gypsy). I'll 
leave you here, then, hag; but curb your tongue when Gowan 
comes. He is a less gentle man than I and would hang you in 
a trice. Come, then; to the table! 

Nan. Yes, yes. 

San. (aside to Nan). You will return and hear me ? 

Nan. (to Sanborn). Yes, although I like not your pre- 
dictions, (to Wilde as he offers his arm). I thank you Colonel 
for your favor, (taking Wilde's arm and turning to company). 
Come, gentlemen! 

(Exit ladies and officers l. 2 e., Wilde and Nan leading; 
Nell following ivith Sir T. and Sir A. Capt. H. with Dor.) 

Lt. J. (to Peggy). Wilt take both of us, Mistress Peg? 

Peg. (effusively). I would love to have you both ! 

Lt. J. Nay, that could not be, for we would fight for owner- 
ship. 

Lt. F. (laughing). Upon my life, 'tis true, upon my life! 
{Each take Peggy's arm and exit laughing l. 2 e.) 

quick music. 

San. (approaches l. 2 e. stealthily. In natural voice). The 
British hound. Your day of reckoning will come, and so will 
Gowan's. And. now to escape, if such a thing is possible. 
(quickly steals into hall l. 1 e. Re-enters stealthily.) No pas- 
sage there, (goes up c. opens casement cautiously: looks through 
and closes it.) Nor there, (exit r. 1 e. stealthily and re-enters). 
Nor there, (straightens up to full height and throivs back hood, 
revealing head and face) A wicked trap, George Sanborn! It 
has a noose that fits your neck. (looks toward l. 2 e. -Whence 
comes sound of laughter). They'll search me when that feast is 
over, (draws two pistols from beneath folds of dress and lays them 
on the table, l. c. Takes papers from dress). These despatches 
must not be found. Let's think — let's think. Shall I destroy 
them? (looks fiercely toivards l.) The British dogs shall not 
know of friend Marion. I'll read the things and then — the 
fire, (looks toward fireplace l., quickly tears open and reads 
despatches. Laughter and tinkling of glasses off l. 2 e.) I know 
them, and now — (crosses to fireplace and holds papers irresolutely 
above flames). Pshaw — I may escape. I'll save them till the 
moment of discovery has come, (suddenly). Am I not dis- 
covered now? What did that soldier whisper outside the door? 
(looks R. 1 E.) "A dangerous game, George Sanborn" — yes, 
that was it. That man knew me. I trembled 'neath my dis- 



28 MISTRESS NAN. 

guise, but was the next moment cast in here, {sound of merri- 
ment from L. 2 E. Fiercely). The cursed Britons! {pushes 
back folds of dress from arms to grasp pistols in hands.) That 
banquet hall has several outlets, as I well know. A dash for 
liberty will throw that merry crowd in some confusion and may 
result in an escape. The chance is poor enough, but still re- 
mains a chance, {about to rush off l. 2 e. pistols i)i hand.) 

Nax. {off L. 2 E.) Depend upon it, I'll not stay long. 

San. {suddenly checked by Nan's voice, allou's hands to drop 
helplessly). 'Tis she! {pause, sloivly). Faith, I wonder if Nan 
will see me die. {recovers and quickly conceals papers and pistols 
beneath dress, assuming bent position.) 
(Nan enters l. 2 e.) 

Wilde {off l. 2 e.). Mistress, your absence takes the flavor 
from our feast. See, the wine no longer sparkles, and demme, 
the cookery has lost its taste. 

STOP MUSIC. 

Nan {at l. 2 e. to those outside). My sister and cousins will 
do the honors in my absence. I'll not remain from such guests, 
I promise you full well, {citrtsys ajul comes doicii c. as San. 
falls on knees before her). Gypsy, I warn you not to keep me 
long. My friends will grow impatient. 

San. {assuming gypsy's voice, a)ui kissing Nan's Jiand). 
The sweetest hand in all Carolina. 

Nan. {aside, laughing). A strange fortune teller, truly, 
{aloud). The palm has not as yet been crossed with silver. 

San. I need no coin to read the future here. I read the 
woman's nature, strong and wilful; yet doubly gentle and sweet 
to those she loves. I read her past and future. 1 see a lover. 

Nan. {sniiling). What gypsy fails to see a lover? Come, I 
would test your prophecy. Describe the man. 

San. He is a man well known to you in years gone by. A 
man who loves you heart and soul; who at this moment would 
give his hand to save you from the slightest pain; who would give 
his life and willingly, if the sacrifice would serve the woman 
his heart is set upon. A man who as a youth once risked his 
life to save your own. A man who now risks more than life — 
risks your displeasure — to save his country from its English foe. 
This man is your lover. 

Nan. {staitding zvith hand to heart. Aside). George San- 
born, {to gypsy). My good gypsy. I know of no such man. 

San. {im press iz'cly). You know him not? 

Nan. {shaking head atul sn!ili)ig). Alack. I nc\er heard of 
such. He sounds like one we read of in the world of books. 
Perhaps you found him there? 



MISTRESS NAN. 29 

San. (gazing intently at Nan). You do not know George 
Sanborn? 

Nan. (with pretence at ineditaiion). Sanborn? Let's see; 
niethinks I've heard that name? Yes, I remember now. He 
joined the rebels, did he not?* 1 knew him years ago. 

San. (aside). Her indifference is too strongly put to be 
sincere, (aloud). Sweet mistress, handsome lips may be un- 
truthful. The gypsy reads the heart your words belie. I see 
you weeping for him in your chamber. 

Nan. (ivith spirit). 1! Weeping for him in my chamber? 
Old woman, you are a fool. Faith I would have liked to see him 
run at Camden! 

San. You know him better. Mistress, (impressively) Perhaps 
he was cut down. 

Nan. (indifferently). Perhaps he was — who knows? 

San. (angrily). Who cares? you mean! Proud beauty, do 
not cloak your feelings with your words. 

Nan. (mischie'i'ously). Ah, but I do care. You know, in my 
•chamber I weep for him. 

San. Woman, proud, cruel, beautiful, I have no patience 
with your wit. But there, you have no heart. 

Nan. (smiling). And yet, good gypsy; you read my nature 
but a moment since as strong, but sweet and gentle to those I 
love. 

San. You do not love George Sanborn? 

Nan. (proudly). Love? I, a Willington, love him who 
fights against his king and country? (proudly). My father 
knew King George. 

San. Against his King for his country. Nan — sweet Mistress, 
I mean. 

Nan. There is no such distinction. The King comes first, 
.and so I told George Sanborn five years back when he wished to 
court the rebel cause and Nan Willington at once, (ivith ironical 
feeling). George Sanborn love me? I know 'tis false; for when 
man truly loves, he'd give his heart, his soul, his chance of 
Heaven for the woman of his dreams. And what did I require of 
him? His allegiance to his King. I foresaw this defeat which 
must attend a cause so reckless and disloyal. His answer was 
"My country first, although it breaks my heart" — His heart! 
He had no heart, for if he had, it would have held him fast to 
me. His country before me; did'st ever hear a man in love 
rave so? Out upon thee, witch, the wretch but won my favor 
to abuse it. He never loved me. (turns aivay and brushes 
■eyes with kerchief). 

San. (tenderly). Nan, Nan, did you love him so! 



30 MISTRESS NAN. 

Nan (recovering herself). No — no — I never loved him. 
What have you betrayed me into, gypsy? There, I am quite 
calm now. (with deter uuiiatioi). Believe me when I say I 
hate George Sanborn. 

San. (with arms extended imploringly). No — no, do not say 
that! 

Nan. (fiercely). Aye — and hate him the more since once I 
might have loved him. 

San. (drawing away from her with a pained expression). Ah, 
well, it matters little. George Sanborn's time has come. 

Nan. (quickly). What mean you, gypsy? 

San. (taking Nan's hand and pointing off l. 2 e.). Listen! 
Go to their feast and drink a silent toast to him. He loved you 
well in life; he loves you now. Go, drink a toast to him. 

Nan (alarmed). You speak in riddles. 

San. George Sanborn is about to die. (laughter and ap- 
plause off L. 2 E.) 

Nan. (quickly). How know you that? Is George Sanborn 
sick, wounded? Where is he? 

San. (after going quickly to l. 2 e. and looking off). Could 
you pass those sentries? (points r.) 

Nan. Aye, with a word from Colonel Wilde. 

San. Then get it. Quick, your cloak! I'll take you to 
George Sanborn. 

Nan. (sits at table l. c. meditating; then). What you propose 
is foolish. I cannot leave my guests. 

San. Then George Sanborn dies! 

Nan. What proof have I of that? 

San. My word. 

Nan. It will not do. 

San. His ring, then? 

Nan. (quickly). You have his ring? 

San. (draws ring from finger). It is here, (gives ring to 
Nan, who examines it and passes it on her own finger.) 

Nan. (laughing suddenly). Gypsy, I see it now — it is a plot. 
He would have me meet him. He wants to plead before me on 
his knees. He wants me to forgive the man who fights against 
his King. His cause defeated in our colony, he wants my 
svmpathy — perhaps my aid. (fiercely). Do they hunt him 
like a dog? Well, he chose his cause; he must abide by its 
rewards. Alack, dost think I'd shield him? No, no, my sym- 
pathy is dead. Were he here now and they all after him, I 
would point him out and say " there is your man !" 

San. (sitting in chair r. c. with downhent head). George 
Sanborn asks naught of thee, Nan "^illington! 



MISTRESS NAN. 3 1 

Nan. (at c. regarding him attentively; then suddenly with 
changed manner; gaily). Come, gypsy, confess it is a ruse ! Con- 
fess he is alive and well! Confess he bribed you to come to me 
with this sad tale. Come, come, let me see your face! {grasps 
gypsy's shoulder). Confess — confess! (starts back suddenly; 
aside). Alack! Now this is strange, (aloud, crosses and falls 
on knees, pressing close to San as he sits r. c.) Let's see your 
face — let's see your face! (as San sloivly lifts his head, she 
pushes away hood with both hands). George Sanborn! (Nan 
starts to feet looking toward l. 2 e.) George Sanborn! Hush! 
(Enter Capt. Hawley l. 2 e.) 

(Nan presses back against Sanborn screening him from view. 
Sanborn quickly replaces head-covering.) 

Capt. H. Mistress, we chafe at your delay. Your guests 
are waiting at the table, and that with much impatience. Me- 
thinks the gypsy keeps you long. 

Nan (trifle agitated). Yes — yes — that is — . I pray yod, 
Captain Hawley, convey excuses to my guests. I will be there 
anon. 

Capt. H. (aside). Is there some plotting here? (aloud). 
Mistress, I much mistrust that gypsy. She has related "some 
weird tale, as I can see both by your face and manner. I'll 
have her under guard, (crosses toward r. 1 e. At same time 
Sanborn with hand under folds of cloak crosses l. behind Nan 
towards fireplace. ) 

Nan. (quite collected, stopping Capt. H. with gesture). One 
moment. Captain Hawley. 

Capt. H. (facing her). Well? 

Nan. Captain Hawley, I've given favors to yourself and 
brother officers. I've entertained you more than once. May I 
crave a favor in return. 

Capt. H. (hesitating). Mistress, 'twill be my pleasure to con- 
fer it ; if pleasure does not conflict with duty. 

Nan. (deliberately). You'll not arrest this woman ! 

Capt. H. (aside, annoyed). Now this I do not like. 

Nan. (stepping forward quickly). You doubt my loyalty? 

Capt. H. (boiving). That I cannot doubt, and yet — 

Nan. You are suspicious of this woman? 

Capt. H. In truth, I am. 

Nan. You saw my agitation. You think I am in plot 
against the King? 

Capt. H. Nay, mistress, I cannot think that. 

Nan. (vehemently). You do — I see you do! Your doubts 
arise with the first suspicion. Well, well, such is the reward of 
years of loyalty. Well, Captain Hawley, the witch has brought 



32 MISTRESS NAN. 

me news; bad news for me, though good for you and yours. 
You've heard the story of that man I knew, and — thought well 
of. The one who joined the rebels. ? 

Capt. H. (aside). I could have sworn it! (aloud). Mis- 
tress, 1 have heard some gossip of the sort. 

Nan. (deliberately). That man, Captain Hawley,is — (pause; 
Sanborn draws away from Nan, pitttiiig Jiaiid under robe for 
pistol) dead. You entered as I heard the news. You under- 
stand my agitation now. (sloivly). I cared for him in days 
gone by. (stands at c. ivith down-bent head.) 

Capt H. You'll give your word that this was all the gypsy's 
news?- 

Nan. (head still bent low, slowly). Yes. (stage i;roivs darker.) 

Capt. H. (sijicerely). Mistress. I crave your pardon for 
suspicion so unworthy. Your sorrow does you credit. A man's 
a man, whate'er his uniform, and doubly gallant must he be 
whose death will draw a tear from Mistress Nan. I'll back to 
the feast with your excuse, (goes tip to l. 2 e., bows in door- 
way) Mistress, (thunder without as Capt. H. exits l. 2 e.) (Nan 
goes quickly up to l. 2 e., looks off; and comes down l. c.) 

Nan. (fiercely to Sanborn). I lied for you! 

San. (pushing back hood and standing ivith one hand on mantel 
above his head).- I did not ask it. 

Nan. (ivith indecision). You'll pass the sentries? Nay, 
George Sanborn, you shall not escape. I will alarm the guard. 

San. (exa)nining printing of pistols at table l.c). There is no 
escape for me. Your British friends are all around the house. 
When they come in — I die. 

Nan. (looks at him with indecision, then paces stage at c. with 
hands locked behind her. Flickering lightning ivithout casement). 
There is a way — there is a way! (suddenly) Remember, George 
Sanborn; I do not save your life for love of you. Some ten 
years back you rescued me from out the river. To-night I'll 
save your life and wipe away that hateful debt. You under- 
stand ! 

San. (springing up quickly). You will do this? Good! 
But how to escape? 

Nan. There is a way. Toby will know. We must have 
Toby's aid. (goes up l. 2 e, concealing herself behind curtain and 
beckons off l. speaking softly) Toby — Toby! (aside). He will 
not look this way! (calling). Toby! (aside). Alack, we 
are losing time. I dare not go in there — they would detain me. 
(beckoning). Toby — Toby! Out on the man — why won't he 
look! Toby! (joyfully) Ah — he sees! (beckons energetically), This 
way, this way! (Sanborn replaces head covering.) 



MISTRKSS NAN. 33 

(Etitcr Toby, l. 2 e. Nan drazvs hint away from doonvay.) 

Nan. Toby, I need you here. Are they well served?' {point- 
ing L.) 

Toby. As well as they can be, Mis' Nan. I recollec' they 
only wants a sight ob you. 

Nan. They must wait — they must wait, (lii^htiiini;; with- 
out). Here Toby — look here, (draivs him towards Sanborn at 
R. c; Nan pushes back Sanborn's headcovcrinii.) 

Toby. Massa Sanborn! (starts back in astonisJuncnt as 
crash of thunder rolls away without). Massa Sanborn by all 
that's — 

Nan, Hush, Toby! Vou understand — he is in danger here. 
We must get him past the sentries. 

Toby (excitedly) . But, how Mis' Nan — but how? Dar be 
not many sentries, but enuf. 

Nan. (pointinf;, off l. 1. e.). How many are there? 

Toby. Two, Mis' Nan. 

Nan. (pointing r. 1. e.) And there? 

Toby. Two, Mis' Nan. 

Nan. (pointing up c). And at the casement? 

Toby. One. Dar's no escape Mis' Nan; dar's no escape. 

San. He is right. 

Nan. (-with exclamation of impatience). Alack, I have no 
patience with you men ! Why this resignation ? Do you want 
to die, George Sanborn? 'Tis weak, 'tis cowardly, to give up 
life and liberty without a fight. You are free as yet; are your 
arms enough? Here are my father's pistols, (crosses l and 
takes pistols from cabinet. Burst of merriment and ponniling on 
table L. 2 e.) 

San. I am well armed. (Nan puts back pistols in cabinet 
thoughtfully. Room dark but for glow of burning logs at l. and 
light from banquet room L. 2 e. Lightning and long roll of thun- 
der. To Toby). You say there is but one without the case- 
ment? (points c.) 

Toby (trembling). Yes, Massa Gawrge. 

Nan. (teatching Sanborn intently). Yes — yes — ? 

San. (after deliberating). 'Tis no use. One shot would 
draw the others in a moment, (thunder). My cause is lost, 
(to Nan) you love me not. Well, what remains, but death? 

Nan. Fool! You shall not die, but another must! 

Toby, (trembling at a vivid flash of lightning). Who then, 
Mis' Nan?" 

Nan. (standing at c, figure outlined by fiash, pointing up c). 
That sentry, (crash of thnndcr and light patter of rain ivithout). 

San. But how to kill the man without a noise? 



34 MISTRESS NAN. 

Nan. Your knife, man — your knife! Slip through the 
casement unseen by him. The rain begins; he may take shelter 
in a corner of the wall. Creep close upon the man, and then — 
{pauses u'itli sii^)iificance.) 

San. {iciiJt determination). I will try. (pushes baek folds 
of dress, leavi)ii:^ arms free to elboic. Draivs knife and rn)is quickly 
to casement, Nan at l. c7;7(i Toby r., ivatchin^^ intoitly. Sanborn 
opens casenient cautiously ami spriui^s up leith knee oti sill.) 

OsPREY (sharply challengini:; from zcitliout). Who goes ? 

San. (pushi)ii::, casenieiit shut aiul facing Nan). That chance 
is gone. What now? 

Nan. Hush! Let me think — let me think — (lightni)ig jlashes 
without as she paces room, pressiiig knuckles into cheeks). There 
is yet another way — there must be — where are your brains? 
Think — think. But one man stands between you and your 
liberty. A woman might dispose of him. (suddenly) I have 
it — a woman shall! • 

San. What now? 

Nan. Come close. (San o)i l. atul Toby r. of Nan at c.) 
That sentry dies but die he must without a sound. 

San. Yes — yes? 

Nan. I'll call him to the casement. I'll find the pretext, and 
you — and you — must hover close behind. But be not seen, 
or else our plot is vain. When he comes up to speak, his neck 
will reach the level of the casement. Toby, your arms are 
strong; you'll seize him then. Squeeze with your might 
upon his throat, and you, George Sanborn, use your knife. 

San. Good, it can be done! 

Toby. Mis' Nan, he'll neber need no knife if I onct ketch 
dat throat. 

Nan. Come, we lose time. Bend low that he will not see. 
(\^ivid glare of light)iing as Nan approaches casement cautiously. 
Toby follou'i)ig l. a)id Sanborn ivith haiui under cloak, r. Sud- 
denly three sharp taps are heard at casenu'}it glass. Pause. Long 
roll of thunder. Taps repeated lehile thunder is echoing.) 

Nan. (lookiiig at Sanborn.' then toToBW pointing at casonoit). 
Open! (Toby shivers icith fear, hesitates; then goes up and 
cautiously draics back glass shutter. As xeiiuioic opctis, a light 
bu)idle of twigs icith note attached is throien through casemoit, 
landi)ig at feet of Nan a}id San. at c. Flash of lightning lights 
■up tableau as they bend over it in surprise.) 

Nan. What is it? (Sanborn seizes bundle, detaches paper 
and conu's dozen to fireplace at l.) 

San. a note! (k)ieels before blaze to read. Nan stands 
with one ha>id o)i Sanborn's shoulder; Toby next to Nan at l. c. 



MISTRESS NAN. 35 

OsPREY /;/ British rci^inicntals passes icitlioitt casement with gun 
on shoulder. Conies to halt icitli hack to icinJoie). What's this? 

Nan. Read — read! 

San. (reads). " Leap from the casement and gain the 
wood. The sentry is a friend who will not see. A mile to the 
north stands a little hut. There you will find a Continental uni- 
form. 'Tis better to run the risk in it than in the gypsy guise. 
The country swarms with enemies." 

{Eriter Sir Anthony, intoxicated, at l. 2 e. Stands unsteadily 
at c ivith hands in pockets, facing group at fireplace.) 

Toby (plucking Nan's sleeve, and pointing to Sir A.). Mis' 
Nannie. 

Sir A. (in thick voice). Mishtriss Nan — why .don't you 
come in and — and — Hellow, what the dev'ls thish? — I — Oh — 
say! (Toby has glided behind seizing Sir A. by throat. San- 
born draws knife but Nan catches his wrist.) 

Nan. Not the knife ! — Put him there, (points to closet, r. 2 e. 
beneath stairway. Sir A. struggles feebly. San and Toby carry 
him off R. 2 E. Re-enter and lock door. Sir A. calls feebly; 
beats upon door.) (Pointing to casement). Your ring is here, 
George Sanborn. The way is clear. — Begone! 

San. You will not keep the ring? 

Nan. (angrily). I? Keep a rebel's ring? This is my 
answer! (tosses ring through casement). I hate thee still! Be- 
gone before I may repent of thy escape! (turns away). 

San. 'Tis well, (pulls hood over head and leaps on casement, 
looking off right and left keenly. Nan faces him as vivid flash of 
lightning outlines Sanborn's weird gypsy figure in casement 
frame. In terrific crash of thunder which follows, Sanborn leaps 
into darkness and disappears. Figure of Osprey seen with back 
to window in flickering lightning. Nan runs to casement, gazing off 
right, as sheets of rain descend. Sound of merriment off l. 2 e., 
and feeble battering against door by Sir A. at r. 2 e. Toby 
leans against door, looking at Nan ivith scared face.) 

CURTAIN. 



36 MISTRESS NAN. 



ACT II. 



SCENE. — Same as in Act I: Cnrtaitis draivii before cascmciii c. b. ; 
lighted candles on tall mantel alnn'c fireplace; Capt. H. s)nok- 
itig long-steitDned pipe thoiiglitfnlly before fire at l. ; otlier 
pipes on mantel; Sir Toby, Sir Anthony and Lts. Jones 
and Faraday play at dice on table l. c. ; pile of money on 
table; Toby standing near l. 2 e.; Osprey u-ith gun on 
shoulder paces visible gallery above.) 

Sir T. {rattling dice box aboi'c head). Double or quits? 

Sir a. Take it. (Sir T. throws; Sir A. folUncs suit.) 

Lt. J. Sir Toby wins. 

Lt. F. Up(~>ii my life 'tis true, upon my life! 

Sir T. Mine it is. (draws nuviey toicards him.) How now. 
Sir Anthony? Shall we tlnxnv again' 

Sir a. Faith no — that is my last, {points to money 7chich 
Sir T. is pocketing.) I\Iy pockets are ill made for guineas. 

Sir T. Come, then, we will join the parson with a pipe. 
{points to Capt. H.) (Sir A. rises and takes pipe from )iuintel; 
lights it from taper w!iic!i Toby holds; sits facing fire. Jo Lt. J.) 
Do you stay in the game? 

Lt. J. Aye — I want revenge. 

Sir T. Well then, good luck to both, if such a thing is pos- 
sible, {crosses l. taking pipe from mantel. Waves aside taper 
ivhieh Toby offers and lights pipe from catidle himself. Stands 
sntoking icith one hand agai)ist mantel abox'c liis head, facing Capt. 
H. <7;;c/ Sir A. Lieutenants co)itinue to dice at table.) "Well, 
Hawley. still thinking on our mystery? 

Capt. H. Still tliinking. Fillip, and as far from a conclusion 
as when we found Sir Anthony asleep within the closet. 

Sir. T. Egad, I've got at one conclusion. 

Capt. H. And that? 

Sir T. Is that Sir Anthony was drunk. 

Sir a. {lightly). Faith, 1 was unconscious of it. 

Capt. H. Aye — that we will not gainsay. 

Sir T. {to Sir A.). But, egad, man, do you remember 
nothing of what occurred within this hall? 



MISTRESS NAN. 37 

Sir a. {helplessly). Nothing? Faitli, I rcnieinbcr less than 
nothing. 1 saw Nell's pretty eyes, and 'nealli their charm, was 
drinking heavily. Then came sleep, and next I know was when 
you shook me into stupid consciousness. You say you found 
me in the closet. Now, curse me, how did I get there? 

Sir T. (laiti^hiiii^). You walked there in your sleej) and 
locked the door. 

Capt. H. With key on the outside. 

Lt. J. You could not do that sober, Sir Anthon^• {laiiiilitcr). 

Lt. F. Upon my life 'tis true — upon my life! 

Sir. a. The laugh is yours. I am as innocent of the whole 
as any babe unljorn. Faith, I must take your word that all 
this happened. 

Sir T. But man; you remember leaving us at the table? 
You came in here, and then, some minutes later, back came 
Mistress Nan saying she had left you with the fortune teller. 

Capt. H. Upon which we forgot of your existence for some 
hours. 

Sir T. Until it occured to i;ie you nuist be making love to 
the old gypsy. 

Capt. H. Which was not impossible for Sir Anthony. 
{laughter). 

Lt. J. {from tabic). Faith, llawley, that is good. 

Sir T, -So, fearing consequences, we made a search, but 
could find neither. Egad, I swore she had made off with you, 
and that up the chimney. 

Lt. J. When I heard a long drawn snore, and there we found 
you in the closet. 

Capt, H. And the gypsy — gone. 

Sir T. Which is the part that puzzles. 'Twas not sur- 
prising to find you locked within a closet — or in a guard house 
either — but curse me if I see how the gypsy left the house with 
sentries all around it. 

Sir a. {zvho has regarded each in bewildered maiiiicr). Gentle- 
men, I miay be guilty of all this; but confound me if I am aware of 
it. Let's see: {looks thoughtfully at burning logs). Yes, I re- 
member now, the gypsy was standing there, {all look at Sir A. 
attentively, including I^ieutenants J. and F). But no — 'twas 
not the gypsy. Confound my stupid head. Then she glared 
into my face, and something caught me by the throat. — Yes, 
by Jove, it caught me tight; my neck aches yet. — And then — 
and — then — No, I cannot think it out. No doubt I went to 
sleep. 

Sir T. {nodding head ivisely). 'Twas the gypsy who caught 
vou bv the throat. 



38 MISTRESS NAN. 

Sir A. (indignantly). What! An old woman? Faith, I'm 
not a weakHng in my cups. And she put me in that closet.'' 
{pointing r. 2 e.) 

Sir. T. It could be done. What think you, Hawley? 

Capt. H. She needed help. For me, I suspect the negroes. 
(Toby at l. 2 e. rubs hand thoughtfully over chin.) 

Lt. J. (rattling and throwing dice). And so say I. 

Capt. H. Wilde throws the blame on Mistress Nan. (to 
Sir a.) Think, Baxter; was she within the hall when you came 
in? 

Sir a. (Iiclplcssly). Faith, I cannot tell. There may have 
been a regiment for aught I know. 

Sir T. (laiiglUng). Egad, but Wilde was wild indeed. He 
would hear naught but that the woman was a spy, and accused 
Mistress Nan of letting her escape. Then, when our Mistress 
answered with her usual spirit, Wilde shut her up; bade her keep 
her room and placed a sentry there, (points to Osprey pacing 
gallery above.) 

Capt. H. A pretty wa}^ to treat one's hostess. 

Lt. J. (rattling dice). Aye — I'll not suspect sweet Mistress 
Nan. We know her loyalty too well. 

Lt. F. (throwi)ic^ dice). Upon my life 'tis true, upon my 
life. 

Sir a. And how he made us ride this morning. Faith I be- 
lieve the country round for fifty miles is on the hunt for gypsies. 

Sir T. a pretty chase, for all. Wilde himself has scarce left 
saddle since day dawned. Mad enough he'll be to have missed 
the wines at Willington. 

Lt. J. (laughing). Aye, the matter is important that will 
take Wilde from his bottle. I wonder where he searches now. 

Sir A. (stretching languidly). And all about a gypsy wench. 
Faith, I say let her go. 

Capt. H. (severely). Young man, your Colonel is a soldier. 
He allows no chance either for or against his cause to pass. If 
the gypsy is a spy, she must be caught. 

Sir A. But wherefore should she be a spy? Sir Toby picked 
her up upon the road and brought her here against her will. 
And what learned she of much import ? And to whom will the 
information take? There is no rebel army in Carolina; there's 
not a band of fifty within 200 miles. Wherefore spy when there 
is no gain to come by it? 

Capt. H. (humorously). I've known some people to spy 
for no better reason. 

Sir a. But this one risked her life. 

Capt. H. She should be caught if only to explain how she 



MISTRESS NAN. 39 

escaped. There was treachery here last niglit, and you were 
drunk and in the midst of it. 

Sir T. Egad, Baxter, 'tis well the I.ord jirotects all drunken 
men and fools; else would you have a knife stuck in your ribs. 

Lt. J. And where is Gowan all this time? 

Capt. H. That is also strange; for Gowan should have been 
here twelve hours ago. It looks as though we would linger 
another night. 

Sir a. Faith nothing suits me better. Mistress Nan's wines 
are plentiful and all a man can ask for. {i:^allof>ijii^ of hoofs ofj R.) 

Sir T. Ah! There comes Wilde now. 

Capt. II. {piittiuf:, doivn pipe and risiiiii and standi n<^ icith 
back to fireplace). Or Gowan. (f^allopini^ louder). 

Sir a. (still suiokini^ and icalkiiif^ up c). We will soon find 
out. (Lts. J. and F. stop dice playing. Galloping ceases r.) 

Sir T. (crosses r.). I'll wager 'tis Wilde. Yes, here is the 
man himself. 

(Enter Colonel Wilde, his uniform splashed ivitli mud from 
hard riding). What news of the witch, Colonel'" 

Wilde. None. Is Gowan here? (to Capt. II.) 

Capt. H. Not yet. 

Wilde. Strange, infernal strange. What can delay the man? 
(paces stage at c.) Now, curse the witch and curse these roads 
of Carolina, (eiuleavors to brush mud from u)iiform) A pretty 
chase I've had; and that through mud enough to drown both 
man and horse. Sergeant! (oiter .Sergeant r. 1 e. and salutes) 
Place that table there, (points for table to be placed at c.) And 
Sergeant; remove your .men from the hall above. (Sergeant 
sig}is to OsPREV leho descends stairway at R and exits r. 1 E. Soldiers 
enter r. 1 e. and place table at c. Sergeant remains r. 1 e. 'Jo 
ToBv) You nigger, bring a bottle. Your best Madeira — 
quick, (exit Toby, l. 2 E.,and re-enter later ivith bottle and glass 
ivhich he places on table at c. (///(/ exits l. 2 e. Wilde sits at table 
c. fills glass and dri)ik-s). What the devil can keep Gowan? 

Capt. H. Perhaps our friend is taken with a lady whom he 
bides to court? 

Wilde (drinking). 'Tis like enough. Demme, the man 
cannot resist a petticoat. However, he should be here. Those 
prisoners must shortly be in Charleston. 

Sir T. And the gypsy — do you give her -up? 

Wilde. Give her up? Not I! I've roused the country 
round for twenty miles. She is in hiding now. But once she 
shows her head, our friends will lose no time to run her down. 
In the meantime, I'll begin the search where we left ofif last night 
— in Willington. (slaps table). 



40 MISTRESS NAN. 

Capt. H. You still suspect our hostess? 

Wilde {drinking). Curse me, I suspect them all. If she's 
not in the plot, her servants are. The gypsy had no wings to 
pass the sentries. No — I have an idea which may bring a clew. 
Sergeant! Bring that nigger Toby here. 

{Two soldiers appear with fixed bayonets l. 1 e. Four enter 
R. 1 E. ; two remain r. 1 e. ; tivo cross stage behind Sergeant exit l. 2 
E. and re-enter with Toby. Soldiers remain at doors zvith arms pre- 
sented. Sergeant salutes and remains c. back. Wilde at table 
c. ; Lts. Jones and Faraday on r. and l. near his chair. Sir A. 
and Sir T., r. ; Capt. H. at l. with back to fireplace). {Roughly 
to Toby). Nigger, stand there! {points l. c). Be careful of 
your speech or be prepared to curse the day when you were 
bc-n. Do you know that I'm a man to keep my word? 

Toby. Cunnell, I well knows dat. 

Wilde {fiercely). Enough — you prate too much. Do you 
know what it is to be suspended by the thumbs and beaten? 
Do you know that in this cursed land where good men hang; 
that dogs of slaves are held as naught? Do you know that 
torture has not yet gone out? Well then, be careful of your 
tongue. What did you in this hall last night? 

Toby {ruminatively). Las' night? At what time Cunnell? 

Wilde. When we were at the table. 

Toby {rubbi}ig his ear). Jes so; jes so. Well, Cunnell, dar 
war a deal; fact sah, I scarcely knows jes whar to start. 

Wilde {sternly). Start at the beginning, fool. What 
made you leave the room where we were banqueting? 

Toby {slowly). Jes so, jes so. {suddenly) 'Twar Mis' Nan, 
Cunnell. 

Wilde {triinupliatitly). Demme, I thought as much. 

Toby. She beckoned me frum de doorwav. 

Wilde. Good! What did she say? 

Toby {carefully). She seemed quite anxious, sah. {hesitates). 

Wilde. Go on, go on. 

Toby {very slowly). And arsks me, Cunnell — 

Wilde {leaning fonvard ivith impatience as Toby licsitates 
once more). Yes! 

Toby. Arsks me if de off'cers hab dere fill of wine. (Wilde 
sits back ivitJi disgusted expression.) 

Wilde. To which you replied — 

Toby. To which I replied, " I don't tink so, Mis ' Nan ; I nebber 
saw an off'cer yet who had." {laughter from ofiicers.) 

Wilde {impatiently). What said she then? 

Toby. Den, Cunnell? Why den Mis' Nan looked ober at 
Mars Baxter, who was standin' there, and smiled. — 



MISTRESS NAN. 4 1 

Wilde {interrupting sitddciily). Hold! I think you lie. 
(to Sir Anthoxv) Were you not at the table when this fe'.low 
left the room? 

Sir a. Faith, I might have been under it for all I remember. 

Wilde. Blockhead! (to Sir T.) Sir Toby; you must re- 
member? 

Sir T. Egad, I was not attending at the moment. 

Wilde {to Lts.) But you noticed, Lieutenants? 

Lt. y. Faith, between our cups and Mistress Peg we never 
gave Sir Anthony a thought. 

Lt. F. Upon my life, 'tis true, upon my life. 

Wilde {a)igrily to Capt. H.). Hawley, you must remember 
whether this nigger left the room before Sir Anthonv? 

Capt. H. Not I. 

Wilde {madly). Hawley, you were drunk. You all were 
drunk. Curse me, for such a pack of drunken fools. 

Capt. H. {slily to Wilde). But Colonel Wilde remembers — 
his head was clear? {all look at Wilde expectantly.) 

Wilde. I would not ask if I remembered, {all look at one 
another in exasperating manner; then at Wilde and shake their 
heads knowingly.) 

Capt. H. {murmuring). Just so, just so. 

Wilde {angrily). Well, do you think I have naught else to 
do than watch this black-skinned scoundrel? 

Capt. H. {murmuring as all shake their heads knowingly 
once more). Just so, just so. 

Wilde {to Toby). Demme, I must take your word, seeing 
that they — {officers all crane their necks toivard him at ivhich he 
hesitates) — that ive were drunk. Sir Anthony was in the room 
with the gypsy and Mistress Nan. What was the gypsy doing? 

Toby (ruminatively). De gypsy, sah? I tink dat gypsy 
was tellin' Mars Baxter's fortune. 

Sir a. {eagerly). Now confound me if I remember that. 
What did she say? 

Wilde {sternly to Sir Anthony). Enough! Your drunk- 
enness has got us in a pretty scrape, {to Toby) What hap- 
pened then? 

Toby. Den sah? Why den Mis' Nan sends me in de cellar 
for Madeira. 

Wilde {leaning forward intently). Ah; you ivent into the 
cellar, did you? 

Toby {looking at Wilde). Yes, sah. 

Wilde {intently). Exactly so! What did you in the cellar? 

Toby {surprised). In de cellar, sah? Why I opened the 
Madeira. 



42 MISTRESS NAN. 

Wilde (risi}ig sternly). Hold! You opened something' 
else! There is a trap door in that cellar. 

Toby ((genuinely astoiishcd). No, sah. 

Wilde (fiercely). I say there is! A trap door giving- 
entrance to a tunnel. That tunnel leads beneath the garden, 
coming up beyond our line of sentries. 

Toby (astoioided). Befo' Heben, sah; I nebber heard of it. 

Wilde (sternly). You led the gypsy through that tunnel. 
Be careful, dog, how you deny it. 

Toby (solemnly raising hand). Cunnel, may de Lord take 
my brefT if I eber saw dat tunnel. 

Wilde. 'Tis not the Lord you must account to, but to me. 
(aside to Capt. H.) You searched the cellar well? 

Capt. H. From end to end. We sounded every bit of wall 
and fioor without success. 

Wilde (puzzled). Curse it, I may be wrong! Yet, if that 
tunnel fails, what way is left for her escape? She could not 
fly from the roof , nor pass the sentries. Ha — Sergeant! (Ser- 
geant comes doii-'H r. c. and salutes). Are all your men trustworthy? 

Ser. I think so. Colonel. 

Wilde. Who was on guard without the casement? (points 
c.) 

Ser. Osprey. 

Wilde. Osprey? I do not know the name. 

Ser. He enlisted two days ago. 

Wilde. The devil! Is it so? 

Ser. The man is a violent Tory, Colonel. 

Wilde. You mean, he seems to be? 

Ser. No, it is more than that. He hates the rebels even 
more than us. It was with much ado I could prevent him abus- 
ing the prisoners on the march. 

Wilde. What did he do? (Wilde drijiks atid tin's disturbs 
his attention.) 

Ser. He was for beating those who were too weak to walk. 

Wilde. Is't so?^ He should enlist with my friend Gowan. 
If the man's a Tory, I well believe his hatred, (signs Sergeant 
to retire. Sergeant salutes and goes up c.) Egad, gentlemen, 
only to-day I came upon the body of a rebel lying across the 
entrance to a house. "Who shot the man," I asked, at which 
the owner boldly said, the fellow was a rebel and deserved no 
more. When asked if he attacked the house, the Tory said that 
such was not the case. The man had asked for bread, and 
demme if the householder didn't put a bullet into him; and 
seemed quite proud, forsooth, of having sent a rebel out the 
world. There's no love lost between these fellow-countrvmen. 



MISTRESS NAN. 43 

Sergeant, remove that fellow {pointing to Toby) and tell the ladies 
I would see them, {exit Toby off l. 2 e.) 

Capt. H. {to Wilde). Methinks an officer had best attend 
the ladies with your message. 

Wilde {laughing at Capt. H.). Now, demme, this fellow 
is a formal one. Sir Toby, tell the ladies 1 would have them 
attend me here. {'^ikT. ascends stairs at k.) Not Mistress Nan 
— I will examine her alone. (Sir T. crosses gallery and exits l.) 

Capt. H. Faith, Wilde, you don't suspect the girls? They 
were with us at the table. 

Wilde {sharply) I know my business, Hawley. When I 
ask for advice, you may give it. Ah, they are here. 

{Enter Sir T. l. of gallery, crosses to head of staircase, and 
bows, alloiving Dorothy, Peg and Nell, to precede him. Girls 
dressed in bright, quaint costumes; skirts short to shoiv trim foot and 
ankle.) 

Dor. {in gallery; aside to. Nell and Peg). I vow I saw him, 
girls. 

Nell. Shucks, Dot! You used to dream about the man, 
but now you see your Osprey in your waking hours. 

Dor. Indeed, 'tis .so. He walked beneath my window all 
last night. But what was odd, he wore a British uniform; and 
when I oped the lattice and called to him, he said "Who goes?" 
in such an awful voice that I quickly closed the shutters in 
affright. 

Nell {as they reach head of stairs at r.). Alack, you must 
have dreamed it. (Dor. shakes her head rebelliotisly.) 

Peg. {timidly to Dor. and Nell at head of stairs). La! 
Look at all those bayonets, girls! Are you afraid? 

Nell. Not I. 

Dor. I would Nan were here! 

Peg. We will keep close and make as bold a front as possible. 
{they come down stairway luith arms abotU each others' ivaists. 
Officers gaze at them with admiration. Girls stand at r. c. They 
glance timidly at Colonel Wilde, ivho looks upon them impress- 
ively. ) 

Nell, {archly). You think us rebels, Colonel Wilde? 

Wilde {gallantly). If to be fair is false, I'll swear you 
all are false. 

Peg. {aside to Dor). Now, that was pretty, Dot; I half 
expected something worse. 

Dor. Hush, Peg. All men can flatter. He has a pur- 
pose behind that speech. 

Peg. Save us, what can it be? 

Dor. Listen {all look at Wilde). 



44 MISTRESS NAN. 

Wilde. Young ladies, you are detained but for a moment. 
I dare say you are well acquainted with this house? 

Peg. La. sir — we ought to be. We've lived in it since our 
birth, and that was eighteen — 

Nell, {interrupting). Hush, Peg, you must not tell our age. 

Peg. {until hand to lips in comic dismay). Oh, La — 
how stupid! 

Wilde {s)niling). A charming age, indeed. 

Peg. {aside to others). Dot, you were right. There ivas 
a purpose in his speech. 

Wilde {ivith feigned carelessness). I dare say that years 
ago you romped merrily through the passage 'neath the garden? 

Nell, {with puzzled expression). Beneath the garden ? 

Peg. La — I never heard of it. 

Wilde {to Dor). And you, Mistress Dorothy? 

Dor. {coldly). I never knew of it. Perhaps my sister can 
give the information you desire. 

Wilde {knoieingly). Aye — perhaps she can. 

Capt. H. {aside to Wilde). Beyond a doubt there is no such 
passage, else they would know of it. 

Sir a. {mischievously). Colonel, I have a charge against 
Mistress Nell. Last night she left the supper room just before 
the gypsy disappeared. Faith, 'tis the last thing I remember. 

Wilde {sharply). How's this? 

Nell. Nay, Colonel, I left with Sir Toby Fillip and was not 
near this room. 

Sir T. (laughing o)i stairs). Aye — I'll vouch that Mistress 
Nell was in no plotting here. 

Wilde {to Nell). What did you with Sir Toby? 

Nell, {blushiiig atid confused). No; I will not tell. 

Wilde {leith assumed severity). Sir Toby, what did 3'ou 
with Mistress Nell? 

Nell, {turning quickly on Sir T. ) Nay, do not tell, if you 
ever wish to see my face again. 

Wilde. This investigation must go oh. Where did vou go, 
Sir Toby? 

Sir T. {laughing). Egad, to an alcove in the West Hall, 
my Colonel; a curtained alcove, just large enough to hold a pair 
of lovers with a little squeezing. A famous place for secrets and 
soft speeches. 

Wilde {zeith assunuxl severity). This looks like plotting. 
Mistress, your actions are suspicious. 

Nell, {confused). Nay. Colonel; do not say that. Sir 
Toby will vouch that I am innocent. 

Sir T. {laughi)ig on stairs). Aye — as innocent as a pretty 



MISTRESS NAN. 45 

girl can be — I kissed her but twice within a minute's time. 
(Nell coivrs face jcith hands and dashes up stiiirs. Officers 
hiiif^h heartily. Dor. and Peg. astonishaf ascend stairs 
priudy). 

Nell, (hiokiiii:;^ over banister of i^aUery). Alack, vou all 
are horrid. There! {runs off l). 

Peg. (over banister). And so say I. I'd like to see a 
man kiss inc.' (icitli assumed severity). 

Sir a. (kissini:^ hand to her). I accept your challenge, Mis- 
tress Peg. 

Dor. (prindy draicijii:^ Peg back). Come Peg, we will let 
Nan know of Nell's misconduct. 

Peg. (aside, scohiini^ as she crosses i^allcry). The wretches; 
why do they all kiss Nell. As though she were the only one 
in Willington who should l)e kissed. 'Tis scarcely fair, I say. 
{exits scoldin'^, L., with Dor.). 

Wilde {to Sir A). Sir Anthony, bid Mistress Nan attend 
me here, {exit Sir A. up stairs at r. crosses i^.dlcry and exits l). 

Capt. H. (shid^-iinj^ I'liK^'f' ^'t Sir Toby). Still at your boyish 
tricks, Sir Toby? 

Sir T. Boyish? Egad, man; at what age does mankind 
leave off kissing? Methinks not until deatli has frozen the 
warmth upon the lips. 

Wilde {laui^hiiii^). Dcmme, for kissing 1 would select 
our Mistress Nan. She is a beauty among ten thousand. 

Sir T. Aye — and one I would not try to kiss. 

Wilde. Why so? 

Sir T. Methinks her conquest would be difficult. 

Wilde. Such things are not impossible, {enter Sir Anthony 
in gallery above. Descends stairway at r). Well, what of 
Mistress Nan? 

Sir a. Faith, her mood was none too ])leasant. 

Wilde. How so? Does she refuse to come before us? 

Sir a. Most absolutely. She says she will take orders nei- 
ther from Colonel Wilde nor any other man. 

Capt. H. {to W'ihie). Methinks a request would be to 
more effect. 

Wilde {aside). Curse the woman! {aloud). Very well; 
give Mistress Nan my compliments and ask if she will attend me 
here. (Sir A. salutes, ascends stairs and exits L. Irritably). 
1 like not her airs and haughtiness. This stately wench must 
have a lesson. I would Gowan were here to deal with her. 

Sir T. Faith, you are not afraid of her? 

Wilde {drinks at table). Afraid? I? Arley Wilde, who 
has, methinks, some reputation as a devil? Not I! No woman 



46 MISTRESS NAN. 

have I seen whose glance could hold me from my purpose. Yet 
this Mistress Nan has that within her eye — 

Capt. H. {interrupting). Which holds your actions prisoner? 

Wilde {recklessly). No — by the gods, it is not so! You 
will see how I deal with her. (Nan enters gallery, and crosses r). 

Sir T. She is coming now. 

Wilde. Good, {sits at table c. Pours wine and drinks while 
Nan descends stairs. Other officers bow). 

Nan. {curtsying haughtily). My thanks to Colonel Arley 
Wilde. He well repays my hospitality by keeping his hostess 
prisoner in her room! 

Wilde, {sitting at table). Who was the gypsy who came here 
last night? 

Nan. {scornfully). Alack, now that is fine! Do you think I 
know the name of every wench you gentlemen pick up upon 
the roads ? Sir Toby brought her in. Ask him that question. 

Wilde. She spoke with you while we were at the banquet. 
What did she say? 

Nan. {defiantly). And if I refuse to answer? 

Wilde {rising impressively). Then — 

Nan. {throwing back head haughtily). What then? 

Wilde. Then we know your loyalty is all assumed. Mis- 
tress Nan is no longer for the King when she consorts with 
the King's enemies. 

Nan. {vehemently). Not so! I'm for the King, and all of 
you must know it well ! My father knew King George and nursed 
m me from infancy allegiance to the crown. I've made some 
sacrifices for the cause I've paid my rents when rents no more 
could be collected; I've turned the rebels from the door. I've 
entertained a hundred British officers. My wines have been 
for them ; my house and lands at their disposal. And what is 
my reward? A gypsy's brought into my house, and because 
she disappears, suspicion in a moment turns on me. Because 
the King's officers hold drunken revel round my table, — 'tis I on 
whom the blame must fall when one escapes whom they should 
be guarding. 'Tis I who must be guarded in my room and 
put to shame before my people. I thank you, gentlemen; 
{curtsying proudly) 'tis noble, manly, and worthy of your 
uniforms to hold a woman to account for your misdoing. 
(Wilde makes move to speak). (Nan extends hand). Nay — 
do not interrupt; for whose misdoing was it, if not yours? 
Had your guards been stationed as they should, the gypsy 
would have still been here. But no! you realize your negli- 
gence, and lest the blame should fall upon yourselves, you 
nobly cast the guilt upon your hostess, {ironically). My 



MISTRESS NAN. 47 

thanks, gentlemen; my thanks for this reward of my good 
hospitaUty. 

Wilde (aside to Capt. H). Demme, the woman is a queen. 
Her anger becomes her well. 

Capt. H. Let not her beauty turn your head. She has a 
charge to answer. 

Wilde. I'll remember that without your telling, (to Nan). 
Mistress, your speech is well, and has the ring of truth. 'Tis 
possible injustice has been done, in which case I shall be the 
first to crave your pardon. However, there is a charge you 
must explain. The gypsy wished to speak with you alone. 
What did she say? (Nan silent, ivith eyes fixed as though in 
tlionght. Wilde, aside to her) Nay, do not fear, I could not 
judge you harshly though your own sweet lips pronounced your 
guilt, (aloud). What did the gypsy say? 

Nan. (with slight hesitation). She brought me news. 

Wilde. Of whom? 

Nan. (looking at Capt. H.) Of one I knew some years ago. 

Wilde (leaning forward). Her news was? 

Nan. (mechanically, still looking at Capt. H.). That he was 
ill; that he was dying. 

Wilde (suddenly). I have it, now! It was of him — the 
rebel — was it not? The man you jilted when he took up arms 
against the King? 

Nan. (slowly). Yes — George Sanborn. 

W^iLDE. And that was alP 

Nan (suddenly). No! 

Wilde. What more? 

Nan. (aside). I have it now — I have it! (aloud). She told 
me this man was hunted down. His forces scattered; his body 
racked with pain; he lay not far away and in great danger of 
capture by your men. Dying, she said he was, and as a last 
request, he asked that I would see him. Gentlemen, you accuse 
me of consorting with the rebels ; I proved that lie to her. This 
man I had known well. His last request was that I come unto 
his bedside. It was a dying wish, and one that friends cannot 
refuse. What did I answer her? I said: "George Sanborn 
chose a rebel's cause; he must accept a rebel's fate." With that 
I left her, going to my room just as Sir Anthony came in. When 
next I passed through here, neither Sir Anthony nor the gypsy 
was in sight. I joined you at the table and knew no more of them. 

Wilde (aside to Capt, H.). What say you, Hawley? 

Capt. H. I must confess that I am puzzled. 

Wilde (beckoning to Sir T. who crosses l and joins them). Sir 
Toby ; what think you of it ? 



48 MISTRESS NAN. 

Sir T. Egad, her speech rings true enough. 

Wilde. And you beheve it? 

Sir T. Nay — I'll not say that. I believe no woman. 

{Enter Sergeant r I e. Salutes). 

Wilde. Well, sergeant? 

Ser. a ring is found which may throw light upon the gypsy. 
A sentry picked it up without the casement. 

Nan. (aside, ivith finger to lips). A ring! 

Wilde (quickly). Let's have it! (Sergeant hands ri)ig 
to Wilde who examines it at c). A broad band of silver with- 
out a stone. Ha? What's this? A name, (exatnines in- 
side of ring attentively. Nan stands very quiet). Lights there — 
the thing is most infernal small. (Sir T. takes candle from 
mantel at l. to Wilde at c). I have it now — George Sanborn! 
(All look at Nan — pause:) 

Nan. (sloivly). Well, I know naught of it. 

Wilde. Methinks you do. good mistress. Methinks you 
know much more than those sweet lips will tell, (suddenly). 
Demme, I have it now. The gypsy was a man: the man was 
named George Sanborn. CSa-s sta}ids very quiet. Triuniphantly). 
What say you to that, good Mistress Willington? 

Nan (icith forced calm)iess). I know naught of your theories. 
The ring may have lain there a year or more. 

Wilde. Not so. There's not a speck of rust upon it. 

Sir T. (mockingly). Egad, our hostess plays a different 
role! 

Sir a. And loyal Mistress Nan is loyal to the King no more. 
(laughs). 

Wilde (aside). Demme. I'll turn this incident to good 
account, (aloud, sternly). Enough, gentlemen; we will hear 
what our hostess has to say. 

Nan. (to Wilde) You think me, then, a traitor? 

Wilde. Demme, I have naught else to think. 

Nan. (with sloic veluvnoue). I am )io traitor. 

Wilde. Would that your actions did belie your words. 

Nan. (ii'/Z/z cDiphasis). I am no traitor! 

Wilde. Did you receive the rebel in this hall? 

Nan. I am NO traitor! I'm for the Ki)ig. The man was 
here; — yes, I admit it. I would he were here now that I might 
prove my loyalty. 

Wilde. This lover of yours — was — here? 

Nan. (vehcnu-titly). No — no — a hundred times I will deny 
I love George Sanborn. This man I have known well in years 
gone by. Think you a woman has no feeling? 1 could not 
see him hang, though hanging he deserved, (haughtily). Yes, 



MISTRESS NAN. 49 

I admit George Sanborn was the spy in gypsy guise. 'Twas 
I who helped him to escape; but still I am no traitor, {ex- 
clamations from ojjiccrs. Fiercely). I'm for the King — dost 
hear? My life all goes to prove my loyalty. The rebel cause — 
the rebel men, I hate; the rebel flag I'd trample in the mire. 
A debt of life I owed this man, for he saved mine from out the 
river. That debt now paid, I am at liberty to hate. Once 
more I say, I would this man were here that I might prove 
my loyalty. 

Capt. H. Mistress, a torrent of words will not cancel the deed. 

Wilde (aside; looking at Nan). Gods, but the wench 
is beautiful. Now, Arley Wilde, is your good opportunity. 
Defend her and she'll not prove ungrateful. 

Sir T. {insolently, to Nan). You do but prove my theory. 
All women are hypocrites and liars. They caress when just 
about to stab. 

Wilde {interposing). Away, Fillip ! {to Nan). Mistress, 
I'll swear you had good cause. Such loyalty as yours succumbs 
not to slight provocation. Demme, were I a rebel, I'd 
penetrate a thousand foes to get one glance from those sweet 
eyes. 

Capt. H. {aside). What mood is this? 'Tis strange for 
Wilde. 

Nan. {eagerly, to Wilde). You believe I am still loyal to the 
King? 

Wilde {looking intently at her). There are none more 
staunch in Carolina, {leaning toieardher, aside). Nor yet more 
beautiful. 

Nan. {joyfully). You still believe in me? {to others). And 
you, gentlemen? Must one mistake of mine destroy the trust 
of years' acquaintance? {others look doubtful and turn aivay). 
Nay, turn not from me. I would give all I had to undo the 
act which now must blot my loyalty. 

Wilde. Let no man say he doubts our hostess. To do 
so means to cross his sword with mine. 

Nan. {curtsying loiv). Good Colonel, I'm all unworthy of 
that speech. 

Wilde {coming close to her). Not so — not so! You are 
worthy of a kingdom, could a man but give it thee. 

Nan. {sincerely.) Alack — I would I were a Queen to 
reward those friends who trust me now. 

Wilde {with face close to hers). Perhaps you can reward 
them — (Nan turns away.) Come, gentlemen, I will conduct 
the investigation with Mistress Nan, alone. Sergeant, retire 
with your men. {exit officers l 2 e. Sir T. and Sir A. arm in 



50 MISTRESS NAN. 

arm, conversing. Lieutenants following. Capt. H. going last 
with donm-bent head. Sergeant signs to soldiers ivho exit at 
respective doors, leaving Nan and Wilde alone. Wilde drinks 
at table.) 

Nan. I scarce could hope for such forbearance. You 
beheve that I am for the King? (Wilde looks fo)idly at her.) 
I am unworthy of that faith. What can I do? What rep- 
aration make for the grievous wrong I did last night? It 
was an impulse — but no, I will be honest — it was no impulse. 
I could not see George Sanborn die. Ah, Colonel; some say 
that I am strong of heart. I'll not believe that hence. A 
woman's heart is weak for those she loves; and woman's heart 
will rule her actions, though empires fall 'to serve her will. 
Alack, I fear my loyal reputation 's gone. 

Wilde (stiidyitig her face). I wonder if Mistress Nan 
would do as much for me? 

Nan. Do what for thee ? 

Wilde. Risk loyalty to save my life ? The same you risked to 
save the rebel? 

Nan.. Who knows? Generosity will quickest touch a 
woman's heart. And if that rule applies, my heart is now 
much touched by your forbearance. 

Wilde (regarding her amorously.) Demme, but you are 
beautiful ! 

Nan. (ciirtsyi)ig.) I scarce could hope for forgiveness 
in the form of flattery. 

Wilde (leaning toieard her.) Forgiveness comes readily 
enough to one who has such eyes as yours. Wilt drink a health 
to those sweet eyes ? (crosses to table c a;;c/ pours zcitie in glass,) 

Nan. (siiiiling.) What woman could refuse a toast so 
flattering, (tastes icine from glass ichich Wilde offers.) 

Wilde (turning glass.) Let my lips touch where those 
sweet lips have kissed, (drinks.) 

Nax. Fie, Colonel — you flatter handsomely. 

Wilde Nay — 'tis not flattery to render homage to such 
peerless beauty. Another health to those sweet lips, (fills 
glass.) 

Nan. (tur)iing aicay.) No more, — no more, for gracious' 
sake. 

Wilde (close beJiind her.) Our speech is all too weak 
for describing beauty such as yours. 

Nan. (laughiiig.) Alack — don't go beyond our speech, 
for I shall never understand. But come, my fault was serious 
last night. Atonement must be made. What shall it be? 

Wilde (drinki)ig at table.) Aye — you must be punished. 



MISTRESS NAN. 5 1 

Nan. (gaily.) Surely? What shall it be, my Colonel? 
Bread and water in my room throughout the week? 

Wilde. Nay — that would rob us of your presence and be 
a punishment to us who do deserve none. 

Nan. {curtsying.) Thanks, Colonel Wilde. You have a 
pretty speech to-day. 

Wilde. I am inspired by your eyes. 

Nan. My thanks again; but what shall be the penance? 
Remember, Colonel, it must be severe. 

Wilde. You called me differently a moment since? 

Nan. I called you differently than Colonel Wilde? Nay, 
I remember not. 

Wilde. You said, "my Colonel." I would I could claim that 
relationship. 

Nan. (stepping back). Your pardon, I spoke with thought- 
less freedom. 

Wilde (smiling.) Nay — I am not hurt by it. 

Nan. But I might be. You men take much unto your- 
selves. 

Wilde (amorously.) Would I could take you unto myself! 

Nan. (indignantly.) Colonel! 

Wilde. Nay — take no offense. If I am bold, 'tis love of 
you that makes me so. 

Nan. (merrily.) Alack, how readily you soldiers fall in 
love. I'll not believe a word of it. 

Wilde. If on my knees I should declare it? 

Nan. Nay, not even then. A man drops readily upon his 
knees to any woman. A silly habit, I call it, and unmanly. 

Wilde (with winning insolence.) You are too practical 
for love. But never fear; I'll wean you to it. 

Nan. (haughtily.) Now, Colonel, your speech has grown 
offensive. 

Wilde. No — no — 'tis part of your atonement! You asked 
me to name your punishment: I will, and readily. The sen- 
tence is a kiss which you must give to me, who now adores 
you. 

Nan. This is an insult. I thought I addressed a gentleman. 

Wilde. Nay — men cannot be lovers and gentlemen at 
once. Nature's extremes can never meet, and every man has 
two within him. Come, Mistress — the kiss I want and I must 
have, though it take force to get it. 

Nan. (turning away scornfully.) Your breath is as offen- 
sive as your manner. 

Wilde. Say you so? I shall take two for that! (seizes 
Nan about shoulders. She struggles.) 



52 MISTRESS NAN. 

Nan. (panting.) Colonel! 

Wilde. Nay, the medicine is not so bad, but what most 
women like to take it. (in struggle they get behind table at c.) 

Nan. Stop, or — 

Wilde. I never stop without my purpose gained! 

Nan. Cur! Take that! (Nan's hand coming in contact with 
a glass of wine on table, she dashes it in Wilde's face, at same 
moment releasing herself from his embrace. Wilde leans stupidly 
against table with ivine dripping from face. Nan calls off l 2 e.) 
Gentlemen! 

{Enter officers L 2 E.) 

Nan. (scornfully.) Look to your gallant Colonel. I fear he 
is in wine, when he insults a lady in her house. 

Capt. H. (half-aside.) Faith it looks as though he ivas 
in wine. A shower must have struck him. 

Lt. F. Upon my life, 'tis true — upon my life! 

Wilde (hoarsely; wiping wine from face.) Mistress — gentle- 
men — demme the lady and I had words, and some good wine 
was spilled with temper. I've been in haste, perhaps. Well, 
I ask your pardon. Mistress Willington. (Nan at r. c. looks at 
him haughtily without inclining her head. Wilde walks up 
to L. 2 E. ivith slight stagger, calling off.) Ho! there, you niggers 
— bring in the wine! 

Nan. Colonel Wilde forgets himself when giving orders in 
my house. I'll have no drinking in this hall. My father 
died here. 

Wilde (boisterously.) Now, by the devil! What airs these 
provincials give themselves! What care I for your father, Mis- 
tress — 

Capt. H. (aside to Wilde.) Careful, Wilde! 

Wilde. Away, Hawley — I'll have my say and let this, 
beauty know her place, (to Nan.) This country. Mistress, 
is ours, by soldiers' right. Hey — do you think we came here 
to be quartered when and how you please? Not so. We 
are King George's troops, and palaces — yes. demme, palaces, — 
are none too good for such, (lowering voice and approaching 
Nan.) 'Tis lucky we want naught else beside your house 
and servants. 

Capt, H. (indignantly.) Colonel Wilde! 

Wilde (facing him fiercely.) Who commands here. Cap- 
tain Hawley? (crosses to h 2 e). Nigger! (Enter Toby l. 2 
e.) Bring in the wine! Plenty of it and be quick about it. 
(glances defiantly at Nan.) 

Nan. (to Toby, quietly but firmly.) Toby, you will obey 
my orders. You'll bring no wine into this hall to-night. ^ 



MISTRESS NAN. 53 

Toby {standing in doorway, trembling.) Yes, Mis' Nan — 

Wilde (pounding on tabic.) Did you hear, scoundrel? The 
wine! (Toby remains motionless ivith eyes fixed on Nan.) Now, 
by the Gods, do you refuse? Dog — I'll have you flayed alive! 

Toby {trembling violentlv.) I'se Mis' Nannie's dog, Cunnell 
Wilde. 

Wilde. Sergeant! 

(Enter Sergeant r. 1 e. and salutes.) Four men and a 
whip, (exit Ser.) We will see who rules here, Mistress Will- 
ington! (galloping of hoofs off right.) 

Nan. You coward! (enter soldiery who seize To»y. Gal- 
loping louder off right.) 

Wilde. Sergeant — who comes without? (eliallenge of sen- 
tries off R. Sergeant exits and re-enters.) 

Sergeant. A prisoner, just captured! 

Wilde. A prisoner? Put him in the stable with the others. 

Ser. One carrying dispatches. Colonel. lie managed to 
destroy them before our men could bind him. 

Wilde. Destroyed them, did he? Bring him in! (to soldiers 
guarding Toby.) Keep that fellow under guard, (exit soldiers 
L. 2 E. with Toby. Wilde half sitting on table, l. c. Nan r. c.) 

(Enter Sanborn, guarded by soldiers, r. 1 e. Sanborn 
in regimentals of Carolina militia; arms bound behind hun.) 
Prisoner, who are you! 

Nan. (whispering aside to ^k^.) Nay, do not tell your name. 
(Sanborn keeps eyes fixed on Nan.) 

Wilde (to Sanborn.) Your name, I say! 

San. That I choose to withhold. My rank is Colonel in 
the militia of Carolina. 

Wilde (laughing boisterously.) Carolina militia? Demme, 
there is no Carolina militia. They disbanded on the run from 
Camden, (laugh from officers.) What dispatches were you 
carrying? (Sanborn laughs in his face and turns looking at 
Nan.) What dispatches, you dog? 

San. (looks fiercely at Wilde.) Yours is a foolish question 
to ask a soldier, (aside.) 'Tis well I destroyed them. They 
do not dream of Marion's existence. 

Wilde (leaves table and approaches Sanborn threaten- 
ingly.) The means could be found to make you tell. (San. 
ignores Wilde, still looking at Nan.) Why do you look at 
Mistress Nan? 

San. (harshly.) I happen to know the lady who enter- 
tains her country's enemies. 

Wilde. A dem fine entertainer! She refused to give us 
wine a moment since. 



54 MISTRESS NAN. 

San. You seem to have your share, Colonel. 

Wilde (sharply.) Enough! Why do you withhold your 
name ? 

San. I have my reasons. I am your prisoner of war. 

Wilde. Perhaps! 

(Enter Dorothy coiuiuf^ dozen stairiuay hastily.) 

Dor. Nan — Nan — I wish to speak with you. — Quick, dear — 
(sees Sa'n. and hesitates on stair.) Alack! George Sanborn ! 

Wilde (quickly.) Is't so? Sanborn? Demme it is the 
spy himself! Your reasons were the best for holding back that 
name. Curse me, I've had a hunt for you this day. (iron- 
ically.) My thanks for coming in so opportune? You know 
our little ceremony for a spy ? 

San. I am a prisoner of war. 

Wilde. War? There is no war in Carolina. It ended on the 
field of Camden. Demme, I shall follow Gowan's plan and 
stand not on formality. You are a rebel, traitor, and a spy. 
Each is a death warrant in such times as these, (to Ser.) Ser- 
geant, you'll guard him well in that large room beyond the 
corridor, (points l. 1 e.) Two sentries place outside each 
window, and two to keep the door, (/o Sanborn) You hang at 
sunrise ! 

Nan. (ivith hand to heart, aside.) My God! 

CURTAIN. 



MISTRESS NAN. 55 



ACT III. 

SCENE.-^Sa?7?(? as in Acts I and II. Stage dark hut for burning 
logs in fireplace l. Occasional rattle of arms ivithout. Loiv, 
quick music. 

(Nan steals along gallery from- l., descends stair and catttiously 
crosses L. 2 E. Pushes back curtains; lights off l. 2 e.) 

Nan. (looking off l. 2 e.) Still at their dice and punch. 
Well, well; I'll make no noise upon this errand, (closes curtains 
L. 2 E. and conies down l. 1 e.) I cannot see thee die, George 
Sanborn. Friendship, Gratitude or Love; whate'er it be; my 
heart enslaves my will and bids me aid this man to freedom. 

(Unlocks and takes drawer of money from, cabinet at l. 1 e. 
Sits on loiv stool before fireplace counting money.) My father's 
guineas. Alack, I never thought to buy a traitor's life with 
these. Ah, why did he turn traitor? (sighs.) Let's see. 
Will the guards take five, or ten or twenty guineas? Fifty, if 
must be, for George Sanborn shall go free. What's that? (slight 
noise off l. 1 e. Nan listens; then quickly draws back and con- 
ceals herself behind curtains at c.) 

(Enter Sanborn and Osprey at l. 1 e.) 

San. Who is my deliverer? Your face, man — let me see 
your face! (draws Osprey into firelight.) Osprey! 

Osp. Sh! Two sentries stand at yonder door, (points 
off R. 1 E.) Our lives are in peril at this moment. 

San. But whence that uniform ? 

Osp. Shucks, man. You are inquisitive for one whose life 
hangs on a hair. After Camden, I became a Tory, that is, — 
you understand; — I went to them and was enrolled as such. 
A spy if you will, — as Wilde calls you. 

San. I see it now. You were the man who stood last night 
outside the casement. It was you who allowed me to escape. 
You risk much, Osprey. 

Osp. Shucks — there is but one death, and that comes in 
its own good time, (points c.) Perhaps those prisoners will 
not see Charleston if I stay in the British ranks. 

San. Noble Osprey! But why this risk for me? 

Osp. I could not leave George Sanborn to die. Come, 
we lose time, (crosses toward r. 1 e.) 



56 MISTRESS NAN. 

San. One question more; how did you overcome your fel- 
low sentry? 

Osp. Faith, with a bottle and a gag. — The first will con- 
quer man as readily as woman. 

San. We'll kill the men betwixt the door and wood. 

Osp. Aye. Perhaps a shot or two will stampede the guard 
about the stable doors. 

San. Wait for me within the doorway. I will follow. 

Osp. Then do so quickly. Our lives depend on't. 

(Exit R. 1 E. Sanborn leans ai^aiust banister r. Nan. Icai'cs 
curtains and comes doivn behind him. He turns and suddenly 
sees her.) 

MUSIC SLOWER. 

Nan. {pointing off r. 1 e.) Go! 

San. (falling on one knee and clasping her ivaist.) Nan! 

Nan. (starting back.) Do not touch me! I hate you as 
I hate all rebels. 

San. (standing before Jwr ivith folded arms.) If you hate 
me, then here is your revenge. Call in your friends, the — 
British. 

Nan. I would not have your life, George Sanborn. Go 
— quickly ! 

San. Thank God, you do not hate! (impetuously.) Say 
you love me. Nan, and 1 will go this instant. 

Nan. Were the rope around your neck, I would not say 
that, (slight noise at R. 3 E.) Hist! Some one comes, (looks 

offR.) 

San. I will bide here and take my chance with him. 

Nan. No — no! Make your escape while the time affords. 
Listen! (tramp of soldiery off r. 1 e, Loiv voices without. 
Nan and San. stand close together at r. c. looking r.) 

San. The sentries are being changed. There's no escap- 
ing now until the patrol has passed. I will bide here within 
the shadow, (kneels on stairs r. behind balustrade.) 

(Enter Dorothy at r. 3 e. Dor. starts back iii surprise a^id 
fear on seeing Nan.) 

Nan. (sharply.) Dot! How now? What does this mean? 

Dor, (embarrassed.) No — Nan; I cannot answer. 

Nan. (taking her by shoulders and looking into her face.) 
You cannot answer? Now, I say you must! I'll not have 
my sister roaming at dead of night through Willington, and 
that when the house is full of soldiery. (Dor. hangs head, 
Nan shakes her. ) The meaning — Dot ; what is the meaning of it ? 

Dor. (evasively.) I might ask the same of sister Nan. 

Nan. You little fool; 'tis different with me. (fiercely.) 



MISTRESS NAN. 57 

What is it, Dot? An appointment with an officer? Whicli 
one? I'll kill the dog with my own hand! 

Dor. {indignaMtly.) Nan! 

Nan. Hush! Not so loud! {kissiw^ her joyjitlly.) There, 
little sister, I knew it was not that. But tell me- what brings 
you here? 

Dor. (hesitating.) I am afraid. You hate them so. 

Nan. Nay — be not afraid, but tell me all. 

Dor. Well, then; old Peter just came in. His liorsc all 
covered with blood and foam, he left beyond their line of sen- 
tries. Marion is coming, Nan! Marion, with thirty men 
to rescue those poor prisoners. You will not tell the British; for 
my sake — for George Sanborn's sake? His life depends on 
Marion's coming. Defeat is sure if they are warned, for Marion 
has but thirty, and Wilde full ninety men. 

Nan. (anxiously.) Marion's band! I thought they were 
all scattered? They will surprise, — defeat King George's troops. 
Let me think, Dot; let me think. 

Dor. Remember George Sanborn, Nan! (tramp of sol- 
diers and rattle of arms off r.) What is that? (crosses l. fearfully.) 

Nan. (absently.) 'Tis nothing, (after a pause.) No, I 
cannot let this come to pass. My loyalty is blackened as it 
is. Dot, I'll warn Colonel Wilde of Marion's coming. 

Dor. (vehemently.) No — no! You must — you shall not! 
The secret is not yours. 

Nan. (smiling.) The secret is for him who may discover 
it. Nay, Dot, the British have lost faith in me. Think what 
an opportunity is this to regain my loyal reputation. Yes — 
yes — I'll warn them, and a warm reception we'll prepare for 
Francis Marion. 

San. (who had left stairway and crosses c, now touches 
Nan's arm.) Listen! 

Dor. (startled.) George Sanborn! Free? 

San. (to Nan.) Nan — you will not do this! Think well! 
Marion, with his thirty are all that remain of freedom's power 
in our colony. For my sake, you'll not destroy this last 
poor hope of Carolina? 

Nan. (looking at him coldly.) For your sake, George San- 
born? What have I not sacrificed for you? Your liberty 
and life I purchased at a price no other man could wring from 
me. Go, and enjoy both! As for your cause, it has no sym- 
pathy of mine : it must expect no mercy. 

San. You will warn the British of Marion's coming? 

Nan. (defiantly.) Aye — George Sanborn! 

San. Then. I'll remain here and die. 



58 MISTRESS NAN. 

Nan. (scornfully.) Do you think that will deter me? 
Do you think that I'll stand by and let our troops be butch- 
ered unawares. Do you think that I'll not improve this chance 
to redeem my lo^'alty. Aye — I'll warn our men though twenty 
Sanborns die ! 

(Galloping of hoofs and challenge of sentries off r. Rattle of 
arms without, music quicker.) Ah — what is that? (Enter 
OspREY R. 1 E. Nan r. c, San. c, and Dor. l. c.) 

Osp. Too late. Sanborn, we die together now! (confu- 
sion in the house.) 

Dor. (throwing arms about Osprey's neck.) My Armand!! 

Nan. Die? No — no! Then, yes — but die like men! Here 
are my father's pistols, (crosses towards cabinet followed by 
San, when soldier steps from l. 1 e. presenting a bayonet at her breast. 
Nan turns, throwing arms about Sanborn's neck.) George! I 
have killed you! 

San. (clasping her.) No — no; you give me life ! I can die 
now and happily, for Nan still loves me! 

Osp. (endeavoring to release himself from Dorothy's em- 
brace.) Come, I need my hands to meet these dogs. 

(Enter officers and negroes with lights. Soldiers ivith bayonets 
presented stand in each doorway. Nan. tears herself from ^a'R- 
BORi^'s embrace and rushes to Wilde.) music stops. 

Nan. Arrest those men, Colonel. I caught them just 
in time! 'Tis well I left my chamber for my book, (pointing to 
San.) He had escaped, (pointing to Osprey.) That fellow 
is a spy! 

Dor. (gazing at Nan ivith wild eyes.) Nan! 

Osp. Traitress! 

San. (aside.) What is her meaning now? 

Wilde. What! Demme, it is the spy! Two of them, eh? 
Sergeant! (Sergeant and soldiers advance, seize San. and 
Osp. a)id retire to extreme l. Nan cJiecks Dor. who is about 
to follow Osprey.) What was the alarm without? 

(Enter Messenger covered ivith dust, and panting from hard 
riding. ) 

Mess. Bad news — bad news, Colonel! Gowan is mur- 
dered ! 

Wilde (amazed.) Gowan murdered! 

Capt. H. (aside.) At last the devil takes his own. 

Wilde (seiziiig Messenger frantically.) Gowan murdered! 
By whom? When? Where? Speak — dog — fool — idiot; it is 
a lie! 

Mess. It is the truth! By Marion. Our party found the 
body swinging from an oak full fifty miles beyond the Wateree. 



MISTRESS NAN. 59 

Above was written on a board: "NOW IS HUMANITY 
CLEANSED OF ITS FOULEST BLOT!" and signed: 
"THE SWAMP FOX." 

Capt. H. (aside.) This Marion has some wit. 

Wilde (raising arms above head.) Now, curses be upon 
this Marion! May God — the devil — either — all, grant I may 
meet him! Put him in my power! Put him in my power; 
that I may roast and tear his flesh with iron pincers! Gowan,. 
thou shalt be avenged, so help me — the devil, (falls in chair, 
burying face in arms at table, l. c.) 

Sir a. Faith, he is cut up about it. 

Sir T. He knew him well. Two better matched and wilder 
devils ne'er graced the British uniform. 

Wilde (beating table.) Gowan! Gowan. The friend of 
my schooldays! Gentlemen, I've drank more with him than 
any other. I loved my Gowan. He was a devil. But one 
after my own heart and soul. 

Capt. H. (aside.) Aye^too true. 

Wilde (springing up.) But I'll have revenge. I'll have 
revenge! (approaching Sanborn.) You hear, you dog? My 
Gowan's dead! 'Tis ill for you and yours! 

San. Carolina's had no better day in years than that on 
on which Black Gowan died. God bless friend Marion! 

Wilde (fiercely.) Friend Marion! Friend Marion! I 
hope he is your friend. I hope he loves you. I would he 
were your brother. You'll swing from the topmost branch 
of yonder elm, and that before an hour is passed. 

Nan. (starting forward.) No — no! 

Wilde (shouting.) No! Who is it says "no" when I 
command. You, you fool? To your room! Your cursed 
airs have held me long enough! (throivs himself in chair ivith 
face buried in arms at table.) 

Nan. (aside, to Dor.) Dot! Tell Peter to ride — ride like 
the wind to Marion, and bid him hasten! Quick, Dot; if you 
love me, lose no time! 

Dor. (to Nan.) I do love you for that! (exit Dor. r. 3 e.) 

Wilde (springing up.) Torches there! We'll not delay 
the ceremony! (to San.) I'll hang thee twice and thrice 
if but to please the soul of Gowan! Nor shall we wait till 
morn! Who knows what happens 'twixt now and' then? 
Curse it; make haste! I hope that Marion will pass this way 
and find your carcass! 

Nan. (aside.) Aye — he may pass before you think! (aloud 
at c.) Yes, hang the dog, and well — and high! There is a 
strong cross-branch upon that elm. There the traitor used to 



6o MISTRESS NAN. 

swing in childhood days. He'll swing there now. (laiii^lis 
liystcn'cally.) Hang both tlie rebel dogs, but first — we'll have 
a feast. 

Wilde. A feast — with Gowan dead! 

Nan. Aye — we'll drink here; within this hall in which 
my father died. We'll make it ring with laughter, song and 
dance, (to nci^rocs at c.) Quick, boys! Ez — Tom — Paul — 
Joe! To the cellars, you lazy dogs and out with our oldest 
wines! (exit iict^rocs in coiifits{o)i l. 2 e.) 

Wilde. Make merry, you fool, with Gowan dead? 

Nan. Aye — we'll drink to his memory! 

Wilde (hcsitati)ii^.) Yes — we'll drink to Gowan's memory; 
but first, we'll hang the spies! 

Nan. No — no — we'll let them wait! What! Stop to hang 
a traitor, when one good toast may speed friend Gowan toward 
heaven or hell? {rc-ctitcr negroes ivith bottles in baskets.) 
Quick, boys! See, gentlemen, the dust lies thick upon the 
bottles! My father's wines all came from France. They've 
stocked our cellars thirty years and more. 

Omnes. a toast to friend Gowan! 

Sir T. {aside to Sir A.) 'Twixt the hanging and the wine 
Wilde appears uncertain. 

Sir a. Egad — 'twixt the hanging and the wine, 1 swear 
1 clioose the latter! 

Wilde We'll drink, then; but stand there. Sergeant, with 
the prisoners. 1 swear I'll not delay the hanging. (;;c\i,'rcv5 
arrani:ie ■ tables at l. c.) 

Sir T. Aye — a toast of blood would satisfy friend Gowan 
more likely than a toast in wine. 

Wilde (moodily.) A toast of blood I would prefer. 

Capt. H. But I prefer the wine. 

Sir T. And, curse me, but it makes no difference. I love to 
see the traitor on the rope; I love the wine. Egad, I'm always 
satisfied. 

Wilde Come, then; to the table and have done with it! 

Nan. One moment, gentlemen! More lights, more lights! 
And, Ezra — (ealls Ezra to c. aiid icliispers aside) you need not 
haste, unless it is to fill their glasses, (aloud.) Wait till the 
lights come, gentlemen! 

Wilde. The lights are well enough. Come! (ofiicers 
arra)iiie themselves aroniid table l. c. Nan takes plaee beside 
Wilde.) 

Nan. Come, boys — wine for the gentlemen. We'll drink 
to Gowan in our best spirits. He loved the bottle well, I liear; 
Then we must drink in plenty if but to honor him. Men like 



MISTRESS NAN. 6 1 

him do not die every day. The toast should be a fitting one 
and all partake, {io Wilde). Shall we serve the men out- 
side, my Colonel? 

Wilde {absently, ivith chin on chest.) Yes — yes! 

Capt. H. Hold — Wilde! It is not well the men should 
have the liquor. This Marion is at large. 

Wilde (fiercely.) Curse Marion! I would he did come 
here! Yes, let the men have wine, if but in honor of my Gowan! 
{allcnvs head to fall in hands on table before him.) 

Nan. {brilliantly.) Aye, I'll see to it! Fie, Captain Haw- 
ley! You do not fear the mean "Swamp Fox?" He dare not 
face our loyal troops, {to Ezra.) Ezra, you'll serve the 
troops without. We have a score of wines not fit for 
gentlemen. Stint not; there is no fear our cellars will run 
dry. {exit Ezra l. 2 e.) Alack, but Gowan shall have a 
royal toast! {murmurs of satisfaction without.) music. 

{Enter Paul with large punch bowl.) 

Come, Paul! Bring the punch bowl here. (Paul sets 
boivl on table at Nan's elbow.) My hand shall serve these 
gallant gentlemen! {sings.) 

Then drink like a jolly good fellow, 

With first, a good health to the King, 

And then to the maid whose bright eyes shine, 

And then to Old Bacchus, the God of wine! 

We'll merrily, cherrily, drink and sing. 

We'll merrily drink and sing! 

{Applause and racket from officers, pounding on table. Nan 
fills their glasses. All repeat chorus, lifting glasses. Wilde 
sits moodily. Amid racket and applause, Nan, as though by 
accident, pushes punch bowl from, edge of table to floor.) 

Nan. {scolding.) Alack! You stupid Paul! Look at this 
mess you've made! 

Capt. H. {aside.) I could swear she tipped it purposely. 

Nan {standing at c. beholding ruin on floor.) You wicked 
Paul! We have had that bowl a hundred years and more. 
My grandam prized it highly. Oh me — oh me! My gown 
is soaked with punch. You will wait with the toast until I 
change it, gentlemen? 

Wilde. We'll wait for nothing. Bring on the port. We'll 
drink to Gowan in that. 

Nan. No — no; in punch! Punch was his favorite; was it 
not? Joe — another bowl. Quick! More punch from the kitchens. 

Sir a. More punch — more punch! 

Wilde {pounding on table.) Port, I say! And quick 
about it ! 



62 MISTRESS NAN. 

Nan, But surely, Colonel, — you'll give me time to change 
my gown? 

Wilde. Change be ! 

Capt. H. {interrupting.) Colonel! Here is the port. 
{negroes approach with bottles.) 

Wilde. We have no time to wait. Go to your room; we'll 
drink alone. 

1 Nan. No — no! Since you will, then; I must drink to Gowan 
all soaked in punch as I am. {looks doivn at soiled skirt.) 
\ Capt. H. Mistress, he was himself in tJiat condition more 
often than in any other. 

Lt. F. Upon my life, 'tis true — upon my life! {all seated 
at table. N^egroes fill glasses.) 

Wilde. {risi)ig, glass in hand) To Gowan — the noblest 
Briton of them all! 

Capt. H. {aside.) God help the Britons! 

Nan. {rising.) To Gowan, the noblest Briton of them 
all. (c7// drink.) Again, gentlemen — again! Fill their glasses, 
boys ! To Gowan ! 

Omnes. To Gowan! {drink.) 

Wilde. There never will be such another Gowan. Men 
of his stamp are rare. He was a very devil in the field. 

Sir T. And in the camp. 

Sir a. And at his cards. 

Lt. J. And in his cups. 

Lt. F. And with the women — upon my life! 

Capt. H. In fact, he was a very devil everywhere. 

Wilde. He was a man — a hero — a God in uniform! Curse 
me, but how he slashed down those devils in our battle with 
Buford, some months ago! 

San. {vehemently.) Battle! Butchery, you mean. 

Wilde {drinking recklessly, as Nan beckons to negro to 
keep piling his cup.) You should have seen us on that day. 
One hundred miles we rode in five and fifty hours. Then, 
before the rebels knew of it, they were surrounded. We're 
honorable men, and we gave them terms, which were rejected. 
" Sir," wrote Tarleton. " resistance is in vain. You are surround- 
ed by seven hundred troops, half infantry, and these have 
cannon. Cornwallis is within an hour's march;'' which 
was a lie, you see. Our troops were scarce four hundred, and 
Cornwallis lay a hundred miles and more away. 

San. {fiercely.) And what did that cur Tarleton? Even 
while the flag of truce was raised, in violation of all rules of 
•war, your English devil ranged his men for the onset! 

Wilde. Ha, ha, mv friend — I scarcelv thought vou'd like 



MISTRESS NAN. 63 

the tale. A trick of war, I call it ; a trick of wa^" which your thick 
headed countrymen all failed to see. (to officers.) Scarce 
had the flag got back within our lines, when "Charge" shouts 
Tarleton, and in we plunged among them. Gowan and I 
were riding boot to boot. How nobly his sword rose and fell. 
The work was merry. The rebel louts in rare confusion — 
some even sitting on the ground, so sudden was our dash. 
They did, not fight — they cowered before us. One lifted up 
his gun; I dashed it down while Gowan raised his sword, 
"Mercy!" shrieked the fellow. "I spared your life at Charles- 
ton! You owe me mine!" Then Gowan laughed that devil's 
laugh you all have heard. "Another creditor" he cried, 
"then to perdition with you and the rest of them!" and with 
that speech he split the fellow's head from crown to shoulder! 
Ah, that was noble Gowan! 

Capt. H. (aside.) Aye — that was noble Gowan! 

Wilde (rising and dashing glass to floor.) And noiu for the J 
hanging ! 

Nan. No — no! Let us hear more of Gowan! 

Wilde. Enough! We've drank, and now to avenge him. 
Sergeant! (all rise from table.) 

Nan. (aside.) My God! What shall I do! 

Wilde (to Sergeant.) Remove the prisoners to the lawn. 

Nan. (at centre zvith raised arm.) Wait! There is one 
toast we have forgotten. 

Officers. A toast forgotten? 

Nan. The toast that all good Englishmen must offer first. 
To the table, gentlemen. 

Capt. H. She is right — to the table! 

Officers Aye — aye — she is right. To the table! (all 
resume places at table.) 

Wilde. Be quick about it then. 

Nan. Wine — more wine — and plenty of it! Open the Ma- 
deira, Port and Sherry — 'tis fifty years old, gentlemen, if it's 
a day. (exclamations of satisfaction from officers.) 

Capt. H. (aside.) There is a meaning beneath her mood. 

Nan. (rising with iviuc glass in hand.) To the King! 

Officers (standing.) To the King! (all drink.) 

Nan. Fill again! To the Queen. 

Off. (drinking.) To the Queen! 

Nan. How like you the Madeira, gentlemen? 

Capt. H. I never tasted better. 

Lt. J. Nor I. 

Lt. F. Upon my life, 'tis true — upon my life. 

Sir a. It soothes the stomach. 



64 MISTRESS NAN. 

Sir T. Egad, but it burns the liver. 

Nan. {merrily pushing Wilde, iL'ho has risen, hack into Jiis 
seat.) Sit down, Colonel Wilde; I have another toast. Stint 
not, gentlemen; the wine is plentiful. I now pledge him who is 
the English army's pride. Who is a gallant man, if gallant men 
exist — {raises glass.) I pledge — the British Otficer! 

Off. {risijig, with cheers.) The British Officer! 

Capt. H. And now, I have a toast. I pledge the bravest 
lady and fairest Tory in all the colonies of King George: the 
rarest and most beauteous flower in all Carolina — Mistress 
Nan of Willington! (Nan leaves seat and ciirtsys to floor as all 
drink zcith a cheer.) 

Sir a. {drunk.) The rarest and — most — bew — bewteous 
— bewt — ! 

Wilde {rising.) Come — 

Sir T. {pushing Wilde into seat.) Sit down, Wilde! More 
wine! more wine! {pushes bottle into Wilde's hand.) Let 
wine chase every ill away. A chorus! to drive black mel- 
ancholy from the hall. {sings with others.) "Then drink 
like a jolly good fellow, with first a good health to the King, ' ' 
etc. 

{Enter Dor. r. h., during chorus. Nan crosses to Jier. She 
and Nan stand r. c. ivith arms about one another, listening to 
the li'ild so}ig.) 

Nan. {looking ton'ords Wilde.) The man's mind runs 
upon his friend; I must plan some diversion, {aside to Dor.) 
Has Peter gone? 

Dor. This long time since. 

Nan I fear — I fear! — The ride is long, and Wilde is sober. 
I have it, Dot. You will take my place at yonder table. 

Dor. {drawing back.) I? Drink with them? 

Nan. (grasping her zcrists.) Yes — yes — Dot, for my — for 
your lover's sake. You must! His life depends on't. 

Dor. {bravely.) I will try, then; but make haste. 

Nan. My dearest Dorothy! I'll send down Nell and Peg. 
{kisses her a)id exits up stairway at r. Dor approaches tabic 
and takes Nan's place.) 

Off. {si)iging at table.) 

Then drink like a jolly good fellow 
With first, a good health to the King, etc. 

{Enter j\ell and Peggy in gallery. At conchision of chorus 
they descend staircase at r.) 

Nell, {at foot of stairs.) Alack, may we join this merry 
company? (Sir Ant. and Sir Toby spring up zeith tipsy 
merriment ami conduct Nell and Peg to table.) 



MISTRESS NAN. 65 

Wilde (suddenly lookiu'^ up from drinking and seeing Dor- 
othy.) Hello — where is Mistress Nan? 

Dor. She left, but for a moment to change her gown. 

Wilde (rises from table coming down r.) I half mistrust 
that woman! (goes part way up stairway at r. and comes down 
irresolutely. To Ser.) Sergeant, we'll need you soon, (re- 
turns to table. Stands and addresses Dor.) You do not drink? 

Dor. (neri'onsly.) No, sir — I like not wine. 

Wilde. Like not wine? Curse me, would life be bearable 
without it. Wine is life and more than life, (raises glass ajui 
holds bctiveen his eye and ligJits on mantel.) Spirits reign there 
within a spirit. My Gowan ever said that twenty devils 
lurked within each cup. 

Capt. H. Gowan was some authority on matters per- 
taining to the devil. 

Lt. F. Upon my life, 'tis true — upon my life! 

Wilde (still stamiing.) Wine is a solace for all sorrow. 
Wine brings forgetfulness ; that boon which death itself, per- 
haps, cannot impart. A health to wine! 

Capt. H. (aside.) Grief makes a philosopher of the man. 

Omnes (rising.) A health to wine! (tipsy by-play of 
officers. ) 

Wilde (ivho has decn ilr inking heavily.) Happiness and 
forgetfulness. 'Tis wine alone can bring these joys which 
sober men will chase through life in vain, (to Dor.) So, Mis- 
tress, you condemn the spirit which calls up happiness? 

Dor. Nay — sir, that is no happiness that ends in sorrow. 

Wilde (boisterously.) Demme — a fair philosopher. She 
tells us to our faces we do wrong. 

Dor. (confused.) Nay, sir — I know not the right and 
wrong of it. All men drink in these days. It is the fashion. 

Wilde (/;/ bullying manner.) So, demme, you bring our 
fashions into question? 

Dor. Nay — I know naught of it. I may be wrong. 

Wilde (filling her glass.) Come, your argument is lost, 
and wine, as usual, wins. Drink! 

Omnes. Drink — drink! (singing.) 

Then drink like a jolly good fellow 
With first, a good health to the King, etc. 

Wilde (to Dor.) Drink! We all drink here, (stands 
over Dorothy, offering wine. She drinks and chokes. Burst 
of laughter from officers.) Another glass — you'll like it soon 
enough. 

Dor. No, I will not. 

Wilde, You will not? You're a saucy wench-; — and a pretty 



66 MISTRESS NAN. 

one as well. There, dost like that better? {kisses her, Dorothy 
leaves table iiidii^iuDitly, eoniiiiii down l.) 

San. (iiidii^iiaiitly.) You coward! music 

Wilde (aicakeiiiiii:^ from drmikeii adiin'rati'on of Dorothy.) 
What? 

San. You coward! To take advantage of a woman! 

Wilde (fiereely, eoming doivn l. c.) You dog — you spy — 
you'll sing a different tune upon the gallows. Aye, and dance. 

(Enter Nan c7/ head of staincay gorgcoitsly dressed in satin 
goivn bedecked zcitii jeieels.) 

Nan. (across bajiister.) Who spoke of dancing? The 
very thing I was to propose. 

Wilde. We've had enough of you and your delays. I'll 
hang this fellow now. 

Nan. (appealing to oncers in injured toiie.) Gentlemen, 
he has had enough of me and my delays! Have I bored you? 
Has my entertainment been unpleasant? I appeal to you, now, 
if it has. Why should Colonel Wilde give preference in danc- 
ing to the rebel? The floor is good in here — let ns dance first. 
The traitor can dance afterwards — on air. (ofticers crozvd 
about, adniiring her.) 

Capt. H. (kissing Nan's hajid.) Colonel Wilde is the most 
ungallant dog in His INIajesty's service. 

Sir a. You are so beautiful. (Nan sniiles, ichispers, and 
flirts with ojjicers.) 

Wilde. Come! Enough of this! 

Sir T. (i)ito.\-icated, fiercely.) Sit down, Wilde, or I'll crack 
your head ! 

Lt. J. We're going to dance! 

Lt. F. (drunk.) Upon my life, 'tis true — upon my life! 

Capt. H. Aye — with Mistress Willington. (applause, a)td 
shouts of "aye — with tlie charming Mistress Willington!" Wilde 
looks around helplessly.) 

Wilde (drinking at table, aside.) Curse me. I'll make 
things merry here, (aloud.) I'll dance, then; but on one 
condition. This pretty wench must step a minuet with me, 
(points to Dorothy.) 

Dor. (shrinki}ig from hi))i.) No — no! 

Nan. (in anxious u)ulerto)u\) Dot — Dot — for my sake — 

Dor. Nan, you know not what you ask. The wretch in- 
sulted me while you were gone. 

Nan. (quickly.) Insulted my Dorothy? (to Wilde, sniil- 
ing.) Perhaps I shall kill you for that insult. Colonel. 

Wilde (i)isolently.) I don't doubt but what you would, 
were the chance to offer, Mistress. 



MISTRESS NAN. 67 

Nan. (tiiniiiii; to Dor.) But you will dance with him? 

Dor. {hanging head.) Yes. 

Wilde. Demme, this suits me well. Sergeant, — withdraw 
your men. Nay, leave the prisoner. Tie him in a chair to 
watch our minuet, {to San.) Look your last, you dog, .upon 
our merriment, for when this measure ends, yoiir dance begins. 
Upon the soul of Gowan, I swear this is the last delay, {soldiers 
fasten San. in chair at l. and exit with Osprey l. 1 e. Negroes in 
background, scraping fiddles. Nan minuets with Capt. H; 
Dor. with Col. Wilde. Wildk ogles her; she shrinks from his 
amorous glances. Sir Toby and Nell and Sir Ant. and Peg 
are partners. They dance.) 

Capt. H. {interrupting in middle of dance.) Stop! 1 could 
swear I heard the galloping of hoofs. 

Nan. {in most brilliant mantier, ivhile stepping minuet.) No 
— no ! on with the minuet. How ungallant to interrupt my 
dance! Alack, that you the favored one should be the first to 
find a fault. Perhaps Captain Hawley is weary. Will another 
gentlemen take his place? (Officers all step forivard. Nan 
smiles.) All of you? Ah, T. could not dance with all. I curt- 
sy to you, gentlemen, {curtsys r. and l. huiistinct galloping 
of hoofs heard off r.) I curtsy to the gallant oihcers of His 
Majesty's service. I curtsy — 

Capt. H. {interrupting.) I am right. Stop that music. 
Quick, Wilde; there is something wrong without {shot without. 
Hasty footsteps. Exit Capt. H. l. 2 e. Officers stupid, 
with wine. Negroes huddle at back.) 

Sir T. Curse it — it is an attack ! {draivs sicordand crosses r. 1 
e.) 

Lt. F. Upon my life, 'tis — {shot off r. 1 e. Sir Toby falls 
across doorivay. Dorothy on stairway. Negroes huddle in con- 
fusion at back. Nan at c. ivith hand to heart gazing at Wilde; 
ivith flashing eyes. Din without. Shots. Cries of "Marion': 
Marion!") 

Sir a. It is the Swamp Fox! Fly for your lives! 

Wilde {to Nan.) Traitress — you brought him here! Now 
cursed be this Marion, and let me cross my sword with his. But 
first, my vengeance here, for my poor Gowan. {to San. as he 
draws sivord.) Thou helpless cur — thou art not saved— no, 
by the devil! Not the rope shall bring thy just desert, but my 
own sword, {rushes on San. ivith uplifted sword, ivhen Nan who 
has quickly crossed to Sanborn's chair draws tivo pistols from 
cabinet and discharges one at Wilde, who falls.) 

Nan. {fiercely.) I said I'd kill thee, dog! {to others, defi- 
antly.) Will any other try his medicine? {more shots without. 



68 MISTRESS NAN. 

Officers stagger off l. 2 e. Nan rushes iip center, flingmg open 
casement and crying.) Kill — kill the hounds; exterminate the 
dogs in red I {patriot soldiery, some dressed in deer-skins, others 
in regimentals , rush in. 

{Enter Osprey l. 1 e. He cuts Sanborn's 6o;u/5 and crosses 
to Dorothy, who cowers on stairs. Nell and Peg at l.) 

San. {springing to his feet.) A sword! A sword! 

Nan. {throwing her arms about his neck.) No! No! Do not 
go now! See! the battle is with yours; the British are in 
flight! {as Sanborn folds her in his arms.) My love! My 
George ! I did it all for thee. 

CURTAIN. 



POEMS 



70 POEMS. 

LONG AGO. 

The old, old friends of Long Ago; 
How Time has swept them by! 
Those youthful heads are white as snow, 
Or 'neath the greensward lie. 
And sometimes as I wander through those once-familiar lanes 
I seem to hear their merry shouts in long-forgotten games. 

I seem to hear the old, old songs, 

Which, when the moon was high. 
Upon the river happj^ throngs 
Sang to the evening sky. 
Dear, dear old songs; with me their memory shall never cease: 
For none sing now as we once sang of Bonnie Eloise 

And Home Sweet Home and Auld Lang Syne 

And Annie Laurie dear: 
How seldom in my life's decline 
These songs break on mine ear! 
But long ago, when this old frame thrilled with youth's sturdy power, 
Those tuneful strains, well-known to all, soothed many a passing hour. 

Ah, Long Ago: sweet Long Ago, 

So filled with mem'ries dear: 
Though later years brought care and woe, 
, Thy days were bright with cheer. 

Bring back those friends whose happy youth with my youth was entwined : 
Awake the many sleeping ones the years have left behind. 

Recall my Jack, dear boj^hood friend 

In frolic, toil and pain; 
But one short hour let me spend 
With bright-ej^ed Jack again. 
Roll back that stone so Avhite and cold, upon the green-sloped hill: 
Mtich of my heart was buried there with Jack, so pale and still. 

And others lie not far from him. 

Beneath the willow tall, 
Joe, Bert and Ed and happy Jim 
Rest till the Trump shall call. 
Above them gentle zephj-rs breathe their rythm through the trees: 
Around, a growing city of troubled hearts at ease. 



POEMS. 71 

Joe was our merchant, Bert a quack, 

Jim, lazy, good and true: 
From Gettysburg they brought him back; 
A martyr to the Blue. 
Our Ed, through life pursuing that phantom charger, Fame, 
Fell fainting by the wayside — with Death the phantom came. 



Hark! Did I hear a merry peal 

Of laughter through the glades? 
Or was it mem'ry made me feel 
The presence of the maids? 
Alas, the wind laughs mockingly while I stand here alone: 
The Father long ago has called those little maidens Home. 



Ruth, — blue-eyed, golden-haired and prim; 

We each loved Ruth in turn. 
She gave her heart to gallant Jim: 
That little heart did burn. 
Yes, yes; she married in good time, but ne'er forgot, I ween, 
Her handsome soldier lover who lay sleeping 'neath the green. 



And laughing Bess, — a stern old maid 

She prophesied she'd be. 
Out on the truthless little jade; 
Her husbands numbered three. 
And stately Lil, and hoyden Jo, and warm-hearted Estelle, 
Are happy figures in that Long Ago I love so well. 



And there's another, dearer still 

Than my dear Jack of old. 
She also lies upon the hill; 
Long gathered to the Fold. 
Oh God, what crime, what sin of inine brought punishment severe 
As that which, in a moment's breath, took her I loved so dear. 



The stars were bright, the evening calm 

When, 'mid rejoicing loud. 
The old hay-wagon from the farm 
Took forth our merry crowd. 
My Nell, my sweetest bride-to-be, was nestling at my side; 
Nor did we heed those romping friends throughout that fatal ride. 



72 POEMS. 

We spoke that night as lovers speak; 

We planned as lovers plan. 
How each the other's joy should seek, 
And Love all troubles span. 
And talking thus, the hours flew, the merry ride was made: 
And cheery home-lights shone below as we plunged down the grade. 

A light gleamed on the rail before ! 

A shout of terror rose ! 
There came the engine's heavy roar! 
The heart within me froze. 
. I sprang afoot. My arms sought Nell, across the side to dash. 
Too late! The others swept between. There came a mighty crash. 

Oh God, that she should be the one 

Selected for that fate! 
Her pure young life so soon undone. 
While mine must linger late. 
With tender bosom well-nigh crvished, the dear life ebbing fast; 
Her dull pained eyes were fix'd on mine until the spirit passed. 

That night the joy went from my life. 

That night I wandered far; 
My anguished soul, in bitter strife, 
With God and man at war. 
For what remained to strive for then, without her smile to bless? 
Could all the honors of the world equ al her one caress ? 

And since that night the years have rolled. 

The seasons quickly flown; 
And this sad heart is growing cold. 
For I am left alone. 
Since Nelly went, the old, old friends have been swept by Time's waves 
Far up upon the hillside; — how many are the graves! 

t^* b?* ^* 



A THOUGHT. 

We make or mar our happiness, 

It lies on every side : 
The greatest blessings ofttime spring 

From things that we deride. 



POEMS. 73 

LINES TO MY LADY'S BRACELET. 

A young- lady of the aiithor^s acguaiKtance possesses a bracelet on which the name ^^Jack" 
is ''graven. It inspired these verses,^ 

In the olden days in Athens, a monument was raised 

In honor of a deity whom good Athenians praised: 

Of pure marble was the pillar, rising grandly from the sod, 

And on the shaft were writ these words, HAIL TO THE UNKNOWN GOD ! 

Full nineteen hundred years had passed and Athens and her fame 
Were crumbling in the dust of time, her glories but a name: 
When, 'mid another people, in a land far o'er the sea, 
A quiet woman had her shrine and praised her deity. 

The shrine was not of massive stone, commanding to the sight; 
The name she loved was never heard upon Olympus' height: 
The first a silver bracelet was and 'graven on its back 
Appeared the unknown deity — plain, unpretentious "Jack." 

A sorcerer had used that name, predicting it was he 
Who held that woman's happiness, her fond husband to be; 
The woman, faithful to her love long ere the lover came, — 
Cherished the little that she had, and thus revered — a name. 

Her Jack may be a Hercules, or midget of mean size; 

A soldier, statesman, merchant, clerk, rogue, fool, or scholar wise. 

It matters little to the faith of her who waits the tryst. 

Her heart with love o'erfiowing and his name upon her wrist. 



t^* f^ %e^ 

TO BRONTE. 

(Written on the fly-leaf of-* Jane Eyre.'^) 

God bless you, little Bronte! 

You gave the world a book 
Through which future generations 

Into your heart may look. 
For Jane Eyre's joys were your joys, 

Her sorrows were your pain; 
And he who writes as you wrote 

Will never write in vain. 



POEM-. 

LIFE'S VOYAGER. 

An atom in flesh, I spring from the womb 

Of a race unknown to me. 
I am suckled, I Uve — and all too soon 
This body goes down into the tomb, 
In the wake of my ancestry. 

Wherefore and whyfore, I oft cry in vain, 

Am I hurled from pole to pole? 
A puppet of fate in this mighty game — 
Hurtling toward regions no man can name — 
Thus speeds my ethereal soul. 

Battling the waves on this river of life. 

Never from danger quite free: 
Skimming o'er currents where dread rocks are rife, 
Facing the storm-king's furious strife, 
My frail bark speeds on to the sea. 

Loved ones and dear friends, one by one are swept 

Awa}- on those cruel waves. 
Oh, sad this voyage, for much have I wept 
O'er those cherished ones, who long have slept. 
In the depths of their sea-green graves. 

In vain I endeavor to guide my bark 

In channels where I would go; 
But a hand, as of Fate, from out the dark 
Unerringly steers me from that mark 

Into courses troubled and slow. 

God pity me now in this awful flight 

Toward shores of the Great Unknown: 
God give me a star, whose hallowed light 
Will guide my soul through these depths of night 
To the Sun of his Mighty Throne. , 

t^* %ff^ t^* 

YOUTH'S DREAM. 

There's a little woman waiting 

somewhere on the strand of Time, 
Gazing wistful o'er the waters 

for a sail she knows is inine ; 
And as down Life's broad river 

my bark speeds toward the sea, 
I'll behold that little woman 

waiting on the shore for me: 
Then I'll quickly steer in closer 

to receive her outstretched hand, 
A ring I'll put upon it, and 

in my bark she'll stand; 
Then away upon Life's journey 

which cannot pass too slow 
With that gentle little woman 

at my side through weal and woe. 



POEMS. 75 

OUR NANCY. 

{A Springtoivn Lanier's Lament.) , 

Alas, she's going to leave us now, 

The girl us fellows fancy; 
A city jay has cum along 

And carried off our Nancy. 

Jest listen and I'll tell you all 

Of how it came about, sir; 
And how a Carlisle man got in 

While Springtown chaps were out, sir. 

Our Nancy wus the pootiest gal 

Who hung up in this section 
And jest to get a glimpse of her 

Would stir up your affection. 

Her hair wus light, her eyes were blue, 

Her figger wus divine, sir: 
She'd make an old pianny talk, 

And sing jest something fine, sir. 

We fellows used to stop 'round there 

Pretendin' to see — Popper. 
The Recordin' Angel must 'ave sighed 

As he set down thet whopper. 

And other times we'd get up spunk 

And call right on the girl, sir; 
The glances she let out them eyes 

Jest set our heads a-whirl, sir. 

Who were we? Well, let's see: there wus 

Me, Rube Hicks, Tim and Sorden; 
And Josh, who hung 'rotind there so much 

Folks thought they took him boardin'. 

And Nan wus ekal to this strain 

O' masculine attention; 
The love she gave us in return 

Was nothin' much to mention. 

In fact she practised on us lads 

A rubbin' off her greenness; 
And if we didn't all bennyfit, 

I'd call it dog-gone meanness. 

One summer Nancy went away 

Up to a place called Parkers, 
And got in with a jolly set, — 

Right-down, tremenjous larkers. 

And when she cum home, her Ma sed: 

"You don't go there agen, Miss! " 
She feared Nan would become engaged, 

Or do something as sen'sless. 



^fi POEMS. 



So next year Alaiua narned the place 
For Nan her time to while, sir; 

And packed her charming daughter off 
To the town of Carlisle, sir. 

Though Nan hed cried and stomped her foot, 
Say'n: "Parkers, or not any!" 

She guv in to her Pa and Ma 
Becos they wvis too many. 

And now I ctim unto the part 
More stranger than all fiction: 

And thet this tale is true, I'll prove 
Beyond all contradiction. 

Nan's foot hed scarcely touched the street 

Outside the Carlisle station, 
Ere she met him who wus to be 

Her iiitymaie relation. 

The man he guv a great big start, 
Then felt quite low and meanly; 

For never hed he sot his eyes 
Upon a gal so queenly. 

But queens is mortals at the best, 
And woman's made for winning. 

Ses he, "While she stays in Carlisle, 
Tlict time will be my inning." 

He rowed and drtiv her 'roimd them parts 

Much oftener than often; 
And did the things one kalkerlates 
^ A woman's heart will soften. 

And, to make a long story short, 

It ended in a church, sir; 
Us Springtown lads were clean forgot 

And left out in the lurch, sir. 

Now, mothers all, take my advice: 
Don't try to drive your daughter! 

Or she'll be sure to do the thing 
You didn't think she oughter. 

HIS IDEAL. 

He was waiting for the maiden 

He had pictured; O, so sweet! 
His ideal he fondly called her — 

This maid he was to meet. 
And he spumed the girl who liked him. 

With all others in his set: 
For this ideal he was waiting — 

And he's waiting for her yet. 



POEMS. 77 

THE VOICES OF THE SOUL. 

Beim; a conflict in the soui of in tin on his flrst conception of the littleness of life, and the 
uselessness 0/ all human vanity.) 

VOICE OF WISDOM. 

Power, riches, fame, ambition, 

Laurels of the great and brave: 
Mockeries of man's condition 

All are compassed by the grave. 

VOICE OF DESPONDENCY. 

All is lowly, all is mortal 
■ In this whirl of Life's short race; 
All must enter at Death's portal, — 
All to conq'ring Time give place. 

VOICE OF CYNICISM. 

Wherefore struggle when the prizes 

Are too often drawn with tears? 
Naught above oblivion rises. 

Why then work throughout the years? 

VOICE OF LUST. 

Rather fill them with keen pleasure, 

Ease Time's footsteps with a tune. 
Drink, be merry, in full measure! 

Death will cheat you all too soon. 

VOICE OF EVIL. 

Downward, ever downward falling. 

Thus the souls of men descend. 
Plunge into the merry brawling; 

Live! To-morrow all things end. 

VOICE OF TRUTH. 

False! Above this chaos, dwelling 

Far beyond the worldly goal. 
Gleams a. star of Hope, foretelUng 

Future for the Heav'n-born Soul. 

VOICE OF ENCOURAGEMENT. 

Trust if. Naught amid this sorrow 

Can its peerless lustre dim: 
It will gtiide you through Death's morrow; 

It alone will lead to Him. 

VOICE OF WARNING. 

Naught is yours: each talent given 

Cometh from your God, above. 
Treasure well these gifts from Heaven: 

Let their work be that of Love. 

VOICE OF CONSCIENCE. 

For each talent in your keeping 

Full account must rendered be. 
Arise, — your soul has been sleeping: 

Sloth is man's great enem}'. 



78 POEMS. 

VOICE OF EXHORTATION. 

Work! The night too soon is falling 
Foi" the task that lies before. 

Angels' voices will be calling 
Souls to rest forcvermore. 

VOICE OF LOVE. 

Do whatc'er the heart, dictating, 
Tells is for the gi'eatest good; 

Lose no time in vain debating; 
Act. as lofty spirits should. 

VOICE OF F.MTH. 

Then, when weary toil is over. 

Forth the gladdened soul will roam 

On its journey to discover 

Mercy at the Judgment Throne. 

,.< w«« u"* 

THE POETS. 

The poets arc men who have suffered, 
Their wisdom springs from the heart. 
Which is chastened by pain 
And cleansed with the rain 
Of tears that from eyelids start. 

Their clay is the clay of all mortals. 
But God has fashioned the mould; 
And the secrets of life 
With their sorrows and strife, 
He throws in the form to unfold. 

And the joys of the poets are gr^^^at joys: 
Their sorrows have depths unknown 

To the versatile mind 

Of careless mankind. 
Among whom the poets have grown . 

They have viewed the land which is promised, 
Have stood on the airy height 
And beheld the sweet vales 
Where love never fails. 
The land of Content and Delight. 

But the climb to that height has been rugged 
And marked with angtiish and sigh: 

While the great soul aspired 

The frail body tired. 
And reaches the sununit — to die. 

Then listen well to their message, 
It springs from a God-given grace; 

And the songs of those years 

So burdened with tears 
Will awaken the soul of a Race I 



poiiMS. 79 

TIES. 

( ll'riiten when />rcse>iti>if; a scai/ to <i yoitiii^ laity.) 

In this great world a little thing 

Will often-time a treasure bviy: 
And life-long friendshi])s sometimes spring 

From gifts less binding than a tie. 

You'll see them worn where'er you go, 

You'll feel their inlluenee by-and-bye; 
For greater tics exist, you know. 

Than those seen by the mortal eye. 

And tics, you'll find, control our lives, 

Will move us when we can't tell why: 
Bring some men misery with "wives, 

And others joy — this might)' tic. 

And now were I to s])eak the truth, 

In all good faith, I'd try 
To catch your favor, sweet Miss Ruth 

And bind it firmly with a tie. 

STICK TO IT. 

If you have a task to do. 

Stick to it! 
Persevere until 'tis through. 

Stick to it! 
Time and thought to labor lend, 
Useful hours you will spend; 
Work is every man's best friend — 

Stick to it! 

Though the task be dull and drear, 

Stick to it! 
Brighter times are drawing near, 

Stick to it! 
Fortune favors him who strives. 
False contentment stunts men's lives; 
He who labors always thrives — 

Stick to it! 

When you know your cause is right, 

Stick to it! 
Conquer evil with your might, 

Stick to it! 
Be not one of those who play, 
Stringing idle day on day; 
Labor is the nobler way — 

Stick to it! 



8o POEMS. 

HER GLOVES. 

A Jiair 0/ glones found in a fiocket after escorting a yoi4ng lady to a dance, ivere resJ>on5ible 

for theybilo7vi>!g.) 

Two little gloves so soft and white, 

Left in my pocket since yesterday; 
Partners with mine for a single night, 

(Fleeting partners that cannot stay.) 
Back to the owner I give them now, 

Her dainty hands soon to enfold: 
Will they betray my secret; how 

I sent with them a wish of gold. 

THE WISH. 

Stay with your owner throughout the years, 

Faded and worn though you may be; 
Teach her that mid this vale of tears 

Youth is the brightest memory. 
Teach that a woman, brave, trvie and kind, 

Is the noblest jewel this world can hold: 
Teach that the beauties of the mind 

Outweigh the flesh a thousand fold. 
Be with her when Life's twilight falls, 

And, as the current is ebbing fast, 
Bring joy to her heart as she recalls^ 

The happy days of the golden Past. 

. e^* ^* ^* 

SOLILOQUY. 

How puny are our lives! 
What changeling dreams we chase from day to day 

And waste the time and talents God has given. 
O, Father, chide Thy foolish lambs who stray, 

And bring them in the path that leads to heaven. 

(,?• (^* t(?* 

HYMN. 

I'd rather be a simple child 

And earn the favor of the Lord, 
Than drive the world with envy wild 

Of wealth and knowledge that I stored. 

I'd rather live and die content 

With knowing that I had not sinned, 
Than follow wilful Pleasure's bent, ' 

Or gain the treasures of the Ind. 

I'd rather starve in a cold world. 

My life, of joys and comforts bare; 
Than carry up a soul that's soiled. 

And fear to meet the Father there. 



HADLEY 

(A BUCKS County romance in 5 acts) 



Publishers^ Play Producers, Dramatists, Amateurs, and others, are warned not to use all 
or any part of this play without permission of the author. This book is covered by copyright, and 
Haulev is protected by copyright. Any who disregard this warning will have to pay damages 
on the infringement o^ tivo copyrights. 

Address all communications to F. 11'. ATOJiCJ^OSS, 3141 No. Broad St., Philadelphia, Pa. 



NOTE : — The play is laid in the beautiful hill-country of Bucks County, 
Pennsylvania: 



CAST. 

Dudley Brant, a country gentleman of ntcaiis. 

Western Billy, a product of Arizo)ia. 

Edward Kingsley, from the city. 

Caleb Bummell, a close-fisted countryman. 

Dr. Peabodv, a young doctor. 

Elmer, ) 

Tj > cou)itrv boys. 

Harvey, \ ■ -* 

Sheriff. 

Sue Perkins, Dudley's house-keeper, a man-hunting spinster. 

Jane Holly, Sue's friend, engaged in the same occupation. 

Tilly Emmons, courted by Caleb. 

Polly Brinton, Sue's niece, in love ivith the doctor. 

Ann Appleby, xvhose tongue has a habit of saying leliat it nieaiis. and 

saying it quickly. 

Kate Berwyn, i>/ Berieyn Farm, the belle of Hadley. 

Bucks County countrymen, sheriff's posse, etc. 

Act I. — Dudley Brant's Garden. [Tico stra>igers in Hadley.) 

Act II. — Berwyn — The folloiving )norni}tg. (A recognition.) 

Act III. — The Bcrxvyn Orchard — Xight. (Boieaili Kate's 
window.) 

Act IV. — Dudley Bra)tt's Library. {For Dudley's sake.) 

Act y. — Same as Act I. — Tico davs later. {The end as it 
should be.) 

TIME : JUNE, 18S5. 



DESCRIPTION. 

Dudley Brant : — A tall man of middle age with gray hair and pleasant manners. 

Western Billy : — Swarthy, and rather picturesque character. Weai-s leather leggings, som- 
brero, and rough dress generally suggestive of the frontier. 

Edward Kingslev : — A handsome, dark man of thirty, faultlessly dressed. 

Caleb Bijmmell : — Forty-four around the chest, and five leet seven in his stockings ; middle-aged, 
round-faced, didactic countryman. 

Dr. Peabody : — Young country doctor of twenty-eight ; plainly dressed. 

Elmer, I „ , . , ' . , 

Harvey 1 •*"^"-"^^"Cd country boys. 

Sheriff : 

Sue Pkrkins : — Sharp-tongued spinster, embodying many female foibles. 

Jane Holly : — Spinster, very thin ; dresses in black ; eccentric and nervous ; wears poke bonnet 

and carries fan. 
TiLLiE Emmons : — A stout, good-natured woman of forty-five. 
Polly Brinton : — Soubrette. 

Ann Appleby : — Plain, hard-working countrywoman. 
Kate Berwyn : — A brown beauty ; not above medium height. 



HADUEIY. 83 



ACT I. 

SCENE: Dudley Brant's garden. {Handsome coimtry Jioiiic- 
stead in foreground at r. ; hedge extending across rear of stage, 
with opening at c, and landscape of hills in background. Rose- 
bower at L. c, consisting of rustic seat in light frame bower ivhich 
surrounds it on two sides. Trailing vine and roses surround 
boiver. Flower bed at c. ivith rustic seat in front; rustic table 
and chairs at R. c. ; climbing roses about netting at house r.) 

(Western Billy at c, standing with legs spread apart 
tipsily, fiask in left hand; Harvey at l., leaning against rose 
bower with arms folded; Elmer seated in chair beside table at 
R. c, his clboivs resting on his knees, ivhilc ivhittling with large 
jack-knife.) 

Billy. Boys, I've been in this dead, sleepy old village of 
Hadley three days now; heven't I? 

Har. Thet you have, Billy. 

Billy. And I don't knovir much of anybody, 'cept you two 
youngsters whom I'm livin' with; do I? 

Har. Thet you don't, Billy. 

Billy. And all these country fellers, and Dudley Brant, who 
own big farms 'round here, look on Western Billy as a good-for- 
nothin' from Arizona; and they think I'm a liar; don't they, 
Harvey? 

Har. I reckon they do, Billy. 

Billy {looking from Harvey to Elmer). And you two 
fellers think I'm a liar because of the stories I've been telling 
about Arizona; don't yer? 

Har. I guess we do, Billy. 

Billy. Well, I am a liar, {lifts flask for long draught; then 
holding up one finger impressively.) Sometimes! But I ainH 
lying when I say I'm the richest man in Hadley at this moment. 

Elmer {looking up and speaking with heavy, slow voice). You 
don't look it, Billy. 

Billy {with drunken earnestness). Now, look-a-yere. Do 
you suppose I'd leave Arizona — wild, glorious Arizona — to come 
to this sleepy old hole called Hadley, ef there wasn't money in 
it? Wall, I guess not. I come East 'cause there's big money 



84 llADLKV. 

in it, an" I've got a little game to play in Hadley that's got a 
fanii at the end of it. 

Har. {iucrciiidoitsly). A farm. Billy? 

Billy. And a wife. too. mebbe. 

Elm. (i/raii7n/s: vonr). Anything else. Billy? 

Billy. Now. shet up, Elmer, and listen a moment. {sta)hi- 
j»C icilh Ici^s Alport). Ther two biggest farms in Hadley is this 
one. owned bv Diidle\- Brant here, {jerks ihiinib in Jirtction of 
house iU R.). and Berwyn. over thar. (u'uev.s' jlask toivarJ l. 3 e.) 
which vei( think is owned by Kate Berwyn. Well, thet's 
wrong. 

H.\R. Xo — thet's the trutli. 

Elm. {positii'cly). Thet's the truth. Billy, 'cause the farm 
was left to Kate bv old Mother Berwyn when she died five years 
ago. 

Bu.Lv. Now. iest shet up a minute, and I'll tell you some- 
thing. Did vou kids ever hear of Mother Berwyn havin' a son? 

Har. Yes. we did. 

Billy. A son who ran away out West fifteen years ago? 

Hak. And who was killed. He was shot in a gambling 
saloon out there. 

Elm. {iiccisii'cly). We know thet. 'cause we read it in the 
newspapers. 

Billy. Now. don't you be so sure. Elmer: those newspapers 
sometimes get things twisted. Now. do you know what Mother 
Berwyn's will says? {boys sJuikc heads). Well, it says this: 
{dcliboriUcly). It says that the farm is to go to Kate, prodding 
William Berwyn — w'ho was Mother Berwyn's real child — never 
shows up again. Ef he does show up. Kate has the choice of 
marrvin' him. or of clearing off the diggings altogether. Hev 
vou got thet through those red-headed noddles of yours? 

Har. Thet may be right. Billy, but 1 don't believe it. 

Billy {iiitcrrupiiiii:). Bvit I've got nothin" agin' Kate. — Kate 
is the prettiest and sweetest little woman in Hadley: ain't she? 

Elm. You told the truth thet time. Billy. 

Billy {xconnini: leith liquor). And all these countr>nnen and 
countrv gentlemen who come drivin' up to Berwyn and dri\nn' 
awav agin, air sweet on Kate: aren't they? And they think 
thet Kate will marry one of them: don't they? 

Har. 1 reckon they do. Billy. 

Billy {jierccly). Wall, not one of 'em's goin' to marry Kate, 
dv'e hear? {threatcttiu^ly) And 1 want to see the feller who's 
going to try it. 

H.\R. Pooh. Billy, you'll have to shoot half of Buck's County 
ef vou want to keep >m away from Kate. Why. dumed ef I 



IIADLKY. 85 

don't think the Sheriff hisscU" is in love with her. You couldn't 
wollop the Sheriff, Billy. 

Billy {pacing stage at c, dcjccicdly). I'm a loafer and a 
drunkard; ain't I? 

Elm. Well, you're not exac'ly a gentleman, Billy. 

Billy. Curse it! (ivith fierce gesture of iin patience, fiings 
flask across stage). Boys; thar goes my ruination! {solemnly) 
Thar goes the last drop of liquor I ever want to see. 

Har. You can't do without it, Billy, you've gone too far. 

Billy. I'm a miserable, poor devil; ain't I? I ain't tit — why, 
I ain't fit to blacken Kate Berwyn's shoes. I'm a beast, and 
Kate's a lady; ain't thet so? 

Har. Well, Billy, Kate's a lady. 

Elm. Altho' she does work harder than some folks think 
ladies ought ter. But she's got manners, and she's good, and 
talks nice and kind; and yes, by jiminy, Kate's a lady. 

Billy, {bitterly). Kate Berwyn wouldn't think of marry- 
ing a poor devil like me; would she? 

Har. I don't think she would, Billy. 

Elm. I know she wouldn't. — Not after having men like 
Dudley Brant after her. 

Billy {ivith fierce animation). Because he is ricli, and owns 
a big farm; eh? 

Elm. No; 'cause he's a gentleman, and thet's something 
better, Billy. 

Billy {vehemently). And who is Kate Berwyn to set herself 
up like thet ? Do you want to know who Kate Berwyn is ? Why 
she's a nobody — thet's who she is. Her mother is dead and, 
her father didn't take the trouble to give her a name. She came 
to Berwyn as a baby, and her mother died there on the night 
Kate was born; and old Mrs. Berwyn took her and brought her 
up, 'cause she knew Kate's mother so well. And she's a charit}^ 
child, thet's what Kate Berwyn is; nothin' more and nothin' 
less, {with mad sarcasm). And she's the young lady who sets 
herself up and has so many men running after her. Do you 
fellers want to know who Kate Berwyn's goin' to marry? Why, 
she's goin to marry me; thet's who she's goin' to marry. Me, 
Western Billy, who never was a gentleman and never will be. 
Me, who has knocked about the toughest parts of Arizona, and 
who has been as tough and as bad as the next one. Thet's who 
Kate Berwyn's goin' to marry. And you'll find she will be 
glad ef I'll have her. {clapping hands to head, vehemently). 
Where's thet whisky? Curse it! Where's thet whisky? {rims 
up c, turning, facing the boys from opening between hedges; 
with drunken intensity) And let those other fellers look out! 



86 HADLEY. 

I'm no tenderfoot, and I can use a gun on occasion. And I will 
use it ; tho' I swing for it. {in rage) Kate is goin' ter marry me ; 
dy'e hear? She's goin' ter marry me, Western Billy, {exit 
R 3 E., miimhling ivith drunken rage and stupor. Harvey runs 
up stage, looking after him). 

Har. {turning to Elmer). Look here, Elmer, we'll hev to keep 
an eye on Billy, or he'll be shootin' somebody. We'd better be 
hiding thet pistol of his. 

Elm. Better be hiding thet whisky bottle, you mean. 
'Tain't the gun but the rum which is dangerous; I'm thinking. 
{rising and slouching up c.) Come along Harvey; we'll follow 
him. {exit Harvey and Elmer r. 3 e. ; Elmer whittling in- 
dustriously. ) 

{Enter Edward Kingsley r. 3 e., turns, looking nonchalantly 
after Billy and the boys.) 

Edw. {coming down r. c, glancing at house r.). Now, who 
lives here, I wonder? Don't know, and don't care; so with or 
without the householder's permission, I'll step into the garden 
and view that pretty bit of scenery below, {leans with one foot on 
bench l. c. back, rolling cigarette, ivhile looking off l. 3 e.). So that 
is Berwyn. The place is a pretty one. And worth some money 
to the man who owns it. Worth considerable money I should 
say, judging from those three hundred acres. Yes, if I owned 
Berwyn — or had a part ownership — I could live like a gentleman. 
{pa^ise, ivhile lighting cigarette, and puffing meditatively). My 
entire career of thirty-one years has been spent in an endeavor 
to live like a gentleman. Unfortunately, I was born poor — 
it's damn inconvenient to be born poor — particularly for an 
ambitious man like myself, {with complacency). However, 
I have improved a few opportunities, and I may now look upon 
myself as a gentleman — a gentleman in all but income, {turns 
toivard l 3 e.). I wonder if Kate remembers me? She should; 
our parting seven years ago was a trifle too sentimental to be 
readily forgotten. However, a world of change may take place 
in seven years. Kate was sincere enough then; the question is: 
Has she changed since? {pause while blowing smoke across hedge, 
then with emphasis) A devilish pretty place is Berwyn. {ivith 
egotistic complacency). Yes, I am convinced that Kate has all 
the virtues of the young woman I wish to make Mrs. Kingsley, 
I know I shall fall desperately in love with her. {remains smok- 
ing meditatively, looking off L. 3 e.). 

{Enter Sue Perkins and Jane Holly from house, r. 2 e. 
Descend steps of piazza without noticing Edward's presence). 

Jane. So you think Tilly and Caleb air engaged, Sue? 

Sue {decisively). I know it; and what's more Tilly Emmons 



HADLEY. 87 

takes my patience. One man is enough for any woman, I'm 
thinking. 

Jane (siitiiig pensively at c). Thet reminds me, Sue; I 
was reading the other day thet there be four wonicji to every 
tuan. ■ • 

Sue (pacing stage). And there is Tilly Emmons fishing for 
Caleb before her first husband is cold a year. It's shameful, and 
there should be a law agin it. 

Jane (plaintively). But think, Sue — four women to every 
manl (sighs). No wonder the men air so conceited. 

Sue. Tilly should wait at least a year. 

Jane. Think how long some women have waited. 

Sue. And Caleb Bummell is a fool. 

Jane. No, Sue — not such a fool as he's ignorant. Plumb 
ignorant of the kind of woman best suited fer him. Now what 
man as wuzn't would take Tilly Emmons? 

Sue. Pooh, Jane Holly — you're jealous. 

Jane (primly). I thank you, I'm above that vulgarity. I'm 
not a marrying woman. 

Sue (wither in gly). No; you don't seem to be. 

Jane (angrily). Laws sakes! You needn't talk. Sue. It's 
village gossip how you've fished for Caleb, and for plenty of 
others at that. 

Sue (;with spirit). Pooh — don't throw stones in glass houses, 
Jane Holly. You're jest as bad, only quieter and not so at- 
tractive. 

Jane, (fanning violently). You won't stay here long when 
Mr. Dudley learns of your talk. This tellin' people he wants 
you to marry him — Dudley won't stand thet, Sue. 

Sue. I know my business, Jane Holly. Start people talking 
of a man doing something, and he'll do it, ef he can. It spurs 
him on. Now Dudley can marry me, sence I have no objections. 
So all he needs is the spurring. You see, Jane? 

Jane. It 's good for you he likes Polly. 

Sue. He likes both, Jane, and has said time and again he 
couldn't get better housekeepers. Now, thet is something. 
Convince a man you're a cook and its a step towards his afifec- 
tions. Their hearts and their stomachs lie close together, I'm 
thinking. 

Jane. Polly does the cooking. Mark my words, Sue; you 
won't stay here long when she marries the Doctor. 

Sue. Which won't be in a hurry. His practice won't keep 
him — much less a wife too. 

Jane. Yet you're always insinuating he is too young to be 
a good Doctor. Thet's mean, Sue — and — 



88 HADLEY. 

Sue. (catciiing siglit of Edward, a;/J siiddoily scizi)ig Jane's 
4irm). Jane! 

Jane (excitedly sereii'ini:^ her liead aroioui). What is it — a bug? 

Sue. a man! {poi)iis io Edward.) 

Jane. Oh, my goodness! 

Sue. (intf^ressi-eely). A young. t:tW-/ooA'/;:c man! 

Jane (fltistered a)id sniootliiiiii, out skirt). Are we all tidv. Sue? 

Sue. The handsome stranger I was telling you of. He 
arrived in Hadley to-day and he's staying down at the hotel. 
Xow leave him to me. Jane. 

Jane {promptly). Indeed. I'll do nothing of the sort! 

Sue. {at c. coughing to attract Edward's attention). Ahem! 

Edw. {tnrni)ig, and rcniaving liat politely). I beg pardon. 
Am I trespassing' 

Sue {aside to Jane). Jane, he's lovely! 

Jane. Such black, curly hair. I always had a weakness for 
black curly hair, {smooths her oioi hair). 

Sue {primly, to Edward). May we know the name of the 
gentleman addressing us ' 

Edw. Certainly. I am Edward Kingsley — at your service. 

Sue. This is my friend. Miss Holly; I am Miss Perkins. 

Edw. {lH>ieing gracefully). Delighted. I am sure. 

Jane {gushi)igly). Yours is such a bewtiful name, Mr. Kingslev. 

Edw. {smili)ig). Thank you. 

Jane {sentimentally). It reminds me of someone I knew 
when I was a girl. 

Sue {cuttingly). You always had a wonderful memory, Jane 
Holly, {aside). The impudent huzzy, to address a stranger 
like that! {gusJiingly). But the name is not so handsome as its 
owner. Mr. Kingsley. 

Edw. {baieing with amused expression). Thank you; thank 
you. (Sue curtsys in stiff country fashion. Aside.) Well, 
this is a pair of rare specimens. However, they may give me 
some information, {aloud). Can you tell me who ow^ls the 
farm just below? {points l. 3 e.) 

Sue {sieeetly). That is Berw}Ti; a large farm, is it not' A 
little larger, but not so well kept as ours. I say "ours." because 
Dudley and I live here. I am Dudley's housekeeper {leith 
n waning) — as yet. 

Edw. {smiling). A fortunate man is Dudley with such a 
charming housekeeper. 

Sue {mai'ing closer to Edward a)id smiling sieeetly). You men 
from the city are such flatterers. 

Edw. {aside). Well, she is a specimen, {aloud) What sort 
of a man is this Berwvn? 



IIADUEY. 89 

Sue. Bless you, there is no man. Only Kate, a pretty faced 
chit, who lives there with her servants. And that is what I con- 
sider disgraceful. 

Jane {aside, /c?;/;//;/,!,' nervously at r.). Thet's Sue! Monop- 
olizing all the men and all the conversation. But I'll settle her. 
{crosses c, aloud to Edward). Hev you seen Kate Berwyn, 
Mr. Kingsley? 

Edw, I have not had that pleasure. 

Jane {ivith jeigucd ecstasy). Such a bcivtijid young woman. 
A brown beauty, we call her, because of her soft eyes and hair. 
Bless me, you'll fall in love with her at sight. 

Sue {to Edward). A much overrated young woman. 

Edw. And unmarried, you say? 

Jane. It's not because she lacks chances. Every gentleman 
for miles around Hadley has been after her. 

Sue {spitefully). After her farm, you mean. And even 
that won't draw them. You'll notice 'em falling away after a 
couple weeks' visiting, {ivith nieaiiiiii^) Men won't marry a 
woman who can't name her own father. 

Edw. {aside). They are rather sensitive in Hadley. I 
would forego the father with Berwyn Farm in the bargain. 

Jane {to Sue). Kate sends 'em about their business, and 
you know it, Sue. But it doesn't look as if she would treat Mr. 
Dudley thet way. 

Sue {sharply). What do you mean by that, Jane Holly? 

Jane. What I say. Sue. I see Mr. Dudley stopping 
at Berwyn four and live times a day, and then Kate 
comes over here pretty often. I've watched 'em close, and 
it strikes me Kate is unusually sweet in his company. Dudley, 
of course, is friendly to all; but I've noticed he is extra at- 
tentive to Kate. Take my word that something will come of 
it, Sue. 

Edw. {aside). Confound this Dudley, whoever he is. 

Sue. Pooh, Jane Holly; Dudley Brant is old enough to be 
Kate's father. 

Edw. {suddenly startled, and turning to Sue). Dudley who? 

Sue {surprised). Dudley Brant. 

Edw. {with trepidation). Dudley Brant? A tall, middle- 
aged man, with gray hair, and pleasant manners? 

Jane, Thet is Mr. Dudley, sure enough. 

Edw. That man lives here — in Hadley? 

Sue. He owns this very farm. 

Edw. {crosses l. c, aside). Dudley Brant! Of all damnable 
luck, mine is most damnable, {aloud to Sue.) I thought he 
was living in Philadelphia. 



^ HADLEY. 

Sue. He was until three years ago. At the death of his 
mother he sold his business and came here. 

Edw. {aside). What in the devil's name brought Dudley 
Brant to the place where Kate lives? 

J AXE {looki)ig off L. 3 E.). Mr. Dudley be coming up the pike 
now. 

Edw. (aside, di\'p in tlioui^Jit). How can I win Kate with 
Dudley here? And he in love wath her, too? (u'itJi determina- 
tion). But I'll do it: I'll win Kate and her farm also, though 
fifty Dudley Brants live in Hadley. {aloud, abruptly). Good 
afternoon, ladies. {Exit quiekly at c. off r. 3 e.) 

J AXE. Sue, thet chap acted queer, (both go up c, looking off 
R. 3 E.) 

Sue. He knows something about Dudley. Xow what can it be ? 

Jaxe {suddenly). Sue! Suppose Mr. Dudley has done some- 
thing awful. Suppose this Kingsley is a detective? 

Sue (iciiheringly). Jane Holly; you always wus a fool, and 
always will be. Dudley Brant wouldn't hurt a mosquito. 

{Enter Dudley Braxt a>id Dr. Peabody, l. 3 e., through 
hedge at c.) 

Dud. Good afternoon, ladies. (ik>>' Jaxe and Sue move tmvard 
R.). Pray don't allow tis to disturb you. Well, Peabody, 
what luck to-day? Any new patients i* 

Dr. p. Xot one. Dudley. (Sue and Jaxe lehispcr together, 
eyeing Dudley.) 

Dud. {syinpathetieally). Ah. too bad. Positively. I must be- 
come ill and let you practice on me. Well, well, better luck 
for to-morrow. 

Sue. Mr. Dudlev. 

Dud. Well. Miss Perkins. 

Sue {leatehing to see the effeet of her leords). Mr. Dudley; a 
young man was jest here — a yotmg man named Kingsley. 

Dud. {leith sudde)i severity). Kingsley! What did he 
want ? 

Sue. He didn't seem to want anything but was surprised 
when he learned you lived here. 

Dud. I imagine so. Don't trouble about him. Miss Perkins; 
he will not remain long in Hadley. 

Sue {rather disappoi}ited). Are vou not afraid of him, 
Dudley? 

Dud. {sniili)ig). Afraid of him? Well. no. {turning to Dr. 
P., aside). This Kingsley is that rascally secretary who ap- 
propriated my money four years ago. 

Dr. p. And you never prosecuted him? 

Dud. Prosecuted him? Why no. {apologetieally). You 



HADLEY. 9 1 

see, Doctor, I knew his mother — a good woman, and a warm 
friend of mine. Her hopes were all in that boy, and to learn of 
his dishonesty would have killed her. However, I dismissed 
the rascal without a recommendation, you may be sure of that. 

Dr. p. (amazed). But, great heavens, Dudley; how nuicli 
did he steal? 

Dud. Only a hundred or two. I admit I was incensed after 
trusting him so implicitly. However, I recovered half the 
money, and to that fact I attribute my leniency. At the same 
time, I gave the scamp a sound thrashing — think of me thrash- 
ing anyone, Peabody — believing it well to impress him with a 
full sense of his misdemeanor. Now let us change the subject, 
Peabody. 

Dr. p. But one moment, Dudley. Don't you know you are 
placing the community at this fellow's mercy? 

Dud. Yes, I have thought of that; but what was I to do? 
Send a man to prison for a trivial offense and you'll ruin him — • 
ruin him body and soul, sir. Do you suppose I could stand 
before my Creator and say I have ruined a man? Why, I should 
be a criminal myself. Now I admit my feelings might have 
been stronger had I been a poor man. But I am a ricli man — 
or comparatively so — and the fellow hurt himself more than he 
hurt me. I considered that point. But I gave him the thrash- 
ing, nevertheless, with a few moral remarks at the time. I 
trust he will benefit by both. 

Dr. p. Well, Dudley, it is your affair, and you are a man 
in a million to take such a view of it. I stopped over to see 
Polly. 

Dud. Well, Doctor, I have no objections — and I don't think 
Polly has any. You know where to find her? 

Dr. p. I'll find her. (crosses, ascends piazza and exits in 
house R. 2 E.) 

Dud. (to Sue and Jane). Ladies, there goes a deserving young 
man. The next time you are ailing, I'd advise you to call in 
Dr. Peabody. 

Sue. Horrors! A young doctor! 

Jane. I might hev him in for a toothache. 

Dud. Take my word for it, you'll find him satisfactory. 

Jane. I'd never hev it said I called in a young doctor. 
People are so apt to talk scandal. (Dudley crosses l. in dis- 
gust). 

Sue. Come, Jane, I must look after Polly. I never trust 
young women alone with young men — particularly with doctors. 
(crosses to Dud. ; sentimentally). Dudley, I have faith in you 
if I haven't in Dr. Peabody. I'll call him in when I'm ailing. 



92 HADLEY, 

But remember, Dudley; should anything happen, the blame 
rests on you. 

Dun. {sliakin(^ Sue's hand). Thank you, thank you, Miss 
Perkins. 1 am. sure you have a kind heart. You'll never regret 
trying the doctor. 

Sue {aside to Jane). You hear that, Jane? He said I had 
a kind heart. He's a lovely man — my ideal of a man. I think 
I'll remain, Jane Holly; Polly or no Polly, (exit Sue and Jane 
ill liotisc at R.) 

Dud. (alone). Dear, dear, I shall wear myself out scaring up 
a practice for Peabody. Poor fellow; he is happy now, though 
— with Polly. 

Sue (ealliiii^ off r. 3 e). Dudleigh-h-h-h-h! 

Dud. Now why didn't Miss Perkins say what she had to say 
when out here? 

Sue (eallini:^). Dudleigh-h-h-h-h! Do you hear-r-r? 

Dud. 1 wish that good woman would refrain from using 
my Christian name. I am sure I never encouraged it. 

Sue (ealling). Dudleigh-h-h-h. Can you come-e-e-e? 

Dud. (annoyed). When she calls in that manner the report 
spreads that we are on very familiar terms. Now, I am a mild- 
mannered man, but — 

Sue (calling). Dudleigh-h-h-h. Please-e-e come. 

Dud. {impatiently). Out of charity, I'll respond. She will 
crack her wind-pipe if I don't, (exit c. off r. 3 e.). 

(Enter Dr. Peabodv and Polly Brinton fro})i house at r.) 

Polly (diseo)isolately). Not a single, solitary new patient, 
Dr. Peabodv? 

Dr. p. Not one, Polly. 

Polly. Oh dear; what will we ever do if you don't get any 
patients? 

Dr. p. Go on loving each other as much as ever, Polly. If 
prospects don't change, I must go to the city. I can't stand this 
much longer. 

Polly. Oh, no-no-no; I don't want you to go to the city. 

Dr. p. Why not? I shall come back for my Polly. 

Polly. There are so many temptations in the city. Dr. 
Peabody. 

Dr. p. (/;; grieved tone). Why, Polly! You don't suppose I'm 
so weak as all that? 

Polly. There are so many girls in the city — girls are awful 
temptations. 

Dr. p. (relieved). Ho-ho. 1 see. 

Polly. Girls ever so much smarter and prettier than I am. 
No, I could never allow vou to go to the citv, Dr. Peabodv. 



HADLEY. 93 

Dr. p. {taki}iii her in his anus). Tliere, Polly — never fear on 
that score. There may be })rettier girls in the world, but 1 have 
no eye for them after seeing and knowing my Polly. Hut I'm 
m no hurry to leave, for who knows what might happen to 
Polly? Somebody might marry her? 

Polly (looking up at him). Only one somebody can do that. 

Dr. p. (kissini^ her). Polly! Well, I must be going now. 
That poor fellow who crushed his foot is in a rather bad way. 

Polly. Can the man pay you anything. 

Dr. p. Not a cent. He is poorer than I. Just think — a 
wife and four children to support during his illness. 

Polly (siti^hiiii^). Oh, dear. 

Dr. p. Don't lose courage, Polly. Remember, we always 
have one thing to console us. 

Polly (disconsolately). What is that, Dr. Peabody? 

Dr. p. That we love one another. That helps me tre- 
mendously, Polly, (i^ocs up c.) 

Polly {drearily). Yes, Dr. Peabody. 

Dr. p. {at c. back). It is some help to you; is it nf)t, Polly? 

Polly {ruiuiini^ up to him). Oh, yes, yes — it is all I liave in 
the world, (as he holds her). I'm so happy now. 

Dr. p. (kissiui^ her). So am I. Good bye, Polly, (exit l.'A e.) 

Polly (waving handkerchief after him). Good bye! (coming 
down; pensively). Oh dear! If Dr. Peabody only had a prac- 
tice. 

(Pinter Dudley c. front k. 3 e.) 

Dud. Polly, Polly — where is the girl? Positively she needs a 
scolding. 

Polly. Here I am. Don't scold mc, Mr. Dudley. I was 
only talking to Dr. Peabody. 

Dud. (pointing off r. 3 e.). Do you see that, Pollv? 

Polly (in consternation). The chickens. I forgot to feed 
them. 

Dud. All waiting to be fed. (looks at watch). Their after- 
noon meal is twenty-six minutes late. 

Polly (about to exit). I'll give them double share for their 
waiting, (pauses as Dudley comes down stage). Oh, Mr. 
Dudley ! 

Dud. (turning). Well, Polly? 

Polly. Do you think Dr. Peabody ever ivill have a practice? 

Dud. 1 sincerely hope so. 

Polly. It is an awful thing to be young and to have men 
ahead of you whom everybody believes in and patronizes. 
Oh, dear! I wish Dr. Peabody was fifty years old.' 

Dud. No you don't, Polly. 



94 HADLEY. 

Polly. No. of course not. I don't mean so old as that, 
(zcistfitlly). Do you think he will have to wait till he's fifty to 
get his practice, Mr. Dudley? 

Dud. And his Polly? No. I do not. Dr. Peabody is an 
energetic young fellow and he will compel this community 
to recognize his merits. 

Polly. I wish something would turn up to help him. Now 
if we would all get the fever! 

Dud. {snuli)iii iiiischicvoitsly). Or the measles! 

Polly. Or the whooping cough! 

Dud. Or the chicken pox! 

Polly. There! I know I'm silly. (sitiJis) Oh. dear, I'm 
off now to feed those poor chickies. {exit r. 3 e., slowly.) 

Dud. Poor little Polly. Waiting for a young country 
doctor is a test for any woman's love. 

(Enter Kate Berwvx at l. 3 e., book in Jiatiil; panscs at c. b., 
looking off L.) 

Kate. Good afternoon. Mr. Dudley, {leans one hand ai^ainst 
liedi^e). 

Dud. {tnrniiiii qiiiekly). Why. is it Kate? As pretty and 
fresh as a June rose. (Kate smiles ajid looks off l. 3 e. Goes 
up to her). Now what is so attractive in the direction of 
Berwyn? 

Kate {turning toivard Dudley, then looking off l.). Berwyn 
itself; is it not beautiful? 

Dud. (gallantly). Berwyn much resembles its owner. It is 
charming. 

Kate {smiling). I never knew my good neighbor w-as a 
flatterer. 

Dud. (simply). I am speaking the truth. Katharine — 
nothing more. 

Kate {gazing off l. 3 e.). I never weary of gazing on my old 
home. How the trees of the orchard cluster about it; how 
prettily the roof peeps above them ; even the dusty turnpike and 
the rickety bridge in the hollow have their charm. How 
pretty the grove and meadow on the hill yonder. We have 
watched many sunsets from that hill. Dudley. 

Dud. (soberly). I shall never forget those sunsets. Kate. Yes, 
I believe you love Berwyn above all things. 

Kate (tiir}iing). That would be a strange love for a woman, 
Dudley, (siticerely). But the place has a hold upon my heart. 
God grant I may never have to leave it. 

Dud. (questio)iitigly). Leave. Katharine' 

Kate. They must have told you the story. If a certain man 
is living:. Berwvn is his. when he comes to claim it. 



HADLEY. 95 

Dud. I heard the gossip, but did not believe it. {syni- 
pathiziiigly). Poor Kate! 

Kate. Yes; poor indeed, if it comes to that — and with scarce- 
ly a home to shelter me. (tc//// jccling). You know my history, 
Dudley Brant. I am not Mrs. Berwyn.'s child; the name does 
not belong to me. I — 

Dud. {raising his hand). Hush, Kate; you give yourself pain. 

Kate, {earnestly confronting him). Dudley Brant, can you 
give your friendship to such a woman? 

Dud. {expostulating). Kate! What a foolish question. 

Kate. But the story is true, Dudley — every word of it. 

Dud. {taking her hand and patting it gently). Katliarinc, I 
am growing old, and with age I become more exacting. I must 
insist upon your friendship to cheer my declining years. Will 
you give it me, little woman? 

Kate, {removing her hand and sniiling sadly). There are not 
many men like you, Dudley. 

Dud. Well, I hope not, Katharine; I sincerely hope not. A 
useless old fellow I am becoming. One who has frittered away 
a lifetime without accomplishing anything of value. I fear I 
have wasted my talents, Kate. Alas, how many of us are 
wasting those talents. 

Kate {cheerfully). I have often wondered why you never 
married. 

Dud. I have sometimes wondered at that myself, Kate. 

Kate. You are still young? 

Dud. I am forty-five, Katharine. 

Kate. And own one of the largest farms in Hadley. It 
seems strange that a man of your education should shut liim- 
self in this great house with little or no companionship. You 
see, our conversation has broken into a personal channel. I'll 
improve the opportunity and learn something about my good 
neighbor. 

Dud. I am not shut in, Kate. I ride constantly ; 1 have my 
birds, my books and my flowers, with which to study and amuse 
myself. Nor do I lack companions with Miss Perkins and 
Polly. 

Kate. But when Polly marries the Doctor? 

Dud. Yes, I have thought of that. However, let us not 
borrow trouble. The Doctor is not in a position to marry. 

Kate. But he will be, some day. 

Dud. I sincerely hope so — for Polly's sake and for his own. 

Kate. Then you will have to marry. You cannot keep house 
alone. 

Dud. {gaily). Whom shall I marry, Kate? Miss Perkins, 



96 HADLEY. 

Miss Holly, or Tilly Emmons? No, I think Caleb would be 
after me if I asked the hand of the latter. 

Kate. I shall look about for an eligible young ladv. 

Dud. {s)}i{li)ig). Thank you, Katharine. So you are going 
to turn match-maker on my account? But don't have her 
too young. Remember. I am becoming rather fogyish. 

Kate. I see no symptoms of it. 

Dud. I thank you again. But seriously, (approachiiii:, her) 
if I thought of marriage again, there is but one woman to my 
fancy. 

Kate (eagerly). Do I know her' 

Dud. {looki}ig into her eyes). You know her quite intimately. 
Katharine. 

Kate (dropping eyes, rising a)id crossing r.). What a foolish 
conversation, (abruptly). I return your book. 

Dud. (taking book a}id gla)iei)ig at title). Ah, you selected 
this — a favorite of mine. And what think you of the heroine ? 

Kate (earnestly). She was a noble woman; my ideal for a 
woman. She was faithful to the man she loved in her youth; 
faithful until death. 

Dud. So that is your ideal of true womanhood? 

Kate. Yes. 

Dud. But suppose the man proved unworthy? Suppose 
the woman sacrifices the pleasures that might still be 
hers for the vague, idealistic faith in one who has perhaps for- 
gotten her long ago; suppose — 

Kate (interrupting, leith some feeling). Xo more, Dudley; 
faith admits of no suppositions. 

Dud. You asked me why I never married. A hundred 
times have I wondered the same about you. 

Kate (smiling sadly). Why I never married? Surely my 
position at Berwyn does not warrant. For the past five years 
I have lived on property I cannot truthfully call my own. Were 
the owner to return I should be an outcast. 

Dud. You refer to this son of Mrs. Berwyn? 

Kate. Yes; we believe he died in Arizona — at least we heard 
news to that effect. Mrs. Berwyn was unfortunate with her 
children. There was a daughter, also, who gave her pain and 
trouble, and who died. After that the poor woman clung to 
me. Indeed my own mother could scarcely have loved me 
more. 

Dud. At her death she willed Berwyn to you? 

Kate. Yes — not having children nor other relations. Her 
husband was a foreigner; his son. very like him, being swarthy 
as an Italian and wild and weak, alternatelv. 



HADLEY. 97 

Dud. That was the one who went West? 

Kate. Yes; if he returns, the will gives me the alternative 
of marrying him and receiving a half interest in Berwyn; or 
of retiring to the little homestead near Reading, which in that 
case, should be mine. You see, Dudley, my position is un- 
certain. Her son may be alive and may return to-morrow. 
While in such uncertainty, it would be foolish to think of 
marriage. 

Dud. Not at all, if you will pardon me. All the better 
reason for securing a home which is unquestionably your own. 
No, Kate, there is something beneath it — some little romance 
of the past. (Kate turns aivay, going slowly up c.) I would 
not pry into it for worlds, {going up to her anxiously). You 
are not hurt by my speech, Kate? 

Kate (absently, leaning head against hand). Not hurt — no, 
Dudley, (facing him with a smile). Do you know, I have an idea 
that neither you nor I will marry. We will grow old, living 
side by side on our farms. You'll come to see me every day, 
as you do now; will you not? 

Dud. I promise to come. But remember, Katharine, I am 
twenty years your senior in the matter of age ; and an older man 
at forty-five than most . I will probably break down early. 

Kate. Nonsense. Do you know, sir; I was watching you 
yesterday. You were leaping the meadow wall with the boys 
and I was surprised at your agility. I — 

Sue (calling without, r, 3 e.). Dudleigh-h-h-h ! 

Dud. (grimly, aside). That is the way all my delightful 
talks are interrupted. 

Sue (without). Dudleigh-h-h-h-h. That hen of yours is off 
her eggs — and I can't spend my time fooling with your crazy 
chickens. Do you hear-r-r-r? 

Dud. (aside). Miss Perkins only thinks of that hen during 
my conversations with Kate, (to Kate). You will excuse me 
for a few minutes? 

Kate. Certainly. May I have another book? 

Dud. What a question! The whole library is at your dis- 
posal, (exit c. off R. 3 E.) 

Kate (coming down r. c; ivith feeling). A romance of the 
past! Dudley guessed my secret. But will the romance have 
an ending? Why have I not heard from Edward? He promised 
to come and I have waited — waited so long. (looking toward 
house). I admire Dudley; he is a good, a noble man. I admire 
him almost as much as I love Edward, (ivith emotion) . Edward 
— my handsome lover — who has forgotten me ! (sinks into chair 
beside table r. c. allowing head to fall forward on arms.) 



98 IIADLEY. 

{E)itcr Western Billy at c. /ro;;; r. 3 e. His face ligJiis tip 
as he sees Kate; hesitates by liedge, then comes dmvii c. rather 
nervously.) 

Billy (aside). Hullo — the gal's crying, (to Kate, in 
softened voice). Can I do anything for you, Miss? Ef anybody 
hez been hurtin' your feelings, Kate Berwyn, jest give tJieir 
name to me, and they won't hurt nothin' else this side o' King- 
dom Cun>. 

Kate (rising, a trifle startled, and passing handkerchief quickly 
across eyes. Aside). What a strange looking man. (aloud). 
Who are you? 

Billy. I'm Western Billy, Miss Kate Berwyn — Western 
Billy, of Arizona. Who made yer cry, Kate? The old feller — 
old Brant? Tell me. I'm on yer side, gal, and he won't hurt 
vou agin in a hurry. 

Kate. No one hurt my feelings. Do you wish to see Mr. 
Brant? 

Billy. No, I want to see you, gal. I've been wanting to 
see yer alone for three days now, I've got something to say 
to yer, Kate. 

Kate (surprised). To say to me. Well? 

Billy. Kate, you're a lucky gal. You own Berwyn farm 
thar, with all its orchards and cattle and farm land. Do you 
remember how you first came thar? You waiz a little baby and 
vou didn't own anything and had no right to anything. Do 
you remember that, Kate? 

Kate (lookijig closely at Billy). You seem to know me. 
Who are you? 

Billy. Never mind thet, gal; do you remember about your 
coming to Berwyn? Ain't it true? 

Kate. It is trtie. (sits at r. looki)ig keoily at Billy.) 

Billy. And then you remember old Mother Berwyn, who 
was so good to you. She took you in as one of her children, 
and sent vou to school with 'em. They never had nothin' 
vou didn't hev. She treated you like her owai children, didn't 
she, Kate? 

Kate. Yes — ves — why do you i^ecall all this? 

Billy. Because I want you to realize what you owe to her. 
I want ver to think of Mother Berwyn and agree to something 
which would be her wish ef she were living here now. 

Kate. Well.? 

Billy. Kate — you knew her children. You knew her son and 
what a wild young devil he turned out to be. 

Kate. 1 knew him too well. He broke his mother's heart by 
his cowardlv action in leaving her. 



IIADUEY. 99 

Billy. Don't jedge him that way — jedgc him hke liis 
mother would. Don't you think his mother would like to see 
him agin? {li'istfnlly). Wouldn't you like ter see him agin, 
Kate ? 

Kate (coldly). No. I never wish to see William Berwyn 
again. 

Billy (hastily). Don't say thet, thet way — you're not thinkin' 
as his mother would now. 

Kate. I am not his mother. I cannot think of him as she 
would. 

Billy. But try to think her way; she'd pity and feel sorry 
fer him, ef she knew he came back and had repented. 

Kate. I think of his mother waiting and praying for his return. 
I think of her looking eagerly for each mail, and see her 
sink back into her chair when it brought no news of her son. 
I can hear her crying "No word, no word, Katie — my boy is 
dead, or he would surely write to his poor old mother." No, 
I have no sympathy for William Berwyn. He is dead — 

Billy (uiterrupting). No — Kate, he is not dead. 

Kate (excitedly). Not dead — not dead — where is he? 

Billy. He is here, gal. (hanging head) — I am he. (pause, 
Kate shrinks from him.) 

Kate (slowly). You — William Berwyn? 

Billy. Yes, (hastily and imploringly). Don't look at me 
thet way. Don't look at me as though you hated me, gal. I 
don't want you to hate me, because — because — 

Kate (aside). I knew it would come — I knew it would come! 
(aloud). No, I do not hate you — I pity you. Pity is more con- 
temptible than hatred. What brought you to Hadley? 

Billy. I thought I would like to see the old place, (humbly) 
I didn't know my mother was dead. I came back and found 
Berwyn hed a new owner. I don't want the farm, Kate. I 
only don't want you to hate me. (pause). Well, Kate — (pause). 
Kate, gal; tell me thet you don't hate me. Please tell me thet, 
Kate. 

Kate (slowly). The farm — Berwyn — is mine no longer, 

Billy. Yes it is, Kate. 

Kate. No — it is yours; the will — 

Billy (interrupting). I've seen the will, gal — 1 don't deserve 
a bit of it. You wuz the only decent child my mother ever had. 
You staid with her; you comforted her; the farm's yours and you 
deserve it. You're the best and sweetest gal in the world, and 
no one feels it more than I, (Kate sits leaning ivith chin against 
hand at table r. c. With rough tenderness). Kate, Kate — I've 
been wa.tching yer for the past three days, and loving yer; yes, 



lOO HADLEV. 

loving yer, gal; I've been listenin' to all the things they've 
been telling me. How well you kept the farm over thar; how 
you wus the best business woman in Hadley, and the first and 
prettiest lady in the place before all of them. I knew the last 
part from the moment I laid eyes on yer agin. Kate, dear, 
you say you want to give up the farm; it's good and generous 
of you to do thet. But you can't go away; you can't leave old 
Berwyn after living thar all your life. Kate, gal, will you marry 
me, and then we'll both live thar, and own the farm together 
as we both should and oughter. 

Kate. ]\larry you? 

Billy. Yes, me. I know I'm a hard lot. I know I'm not 
good enough fer you and never could be. But I know ef you 
married me it would give a turn to my life, I know thet I'd 
settle down inter a sober, hard-working man as my mother would 
hev liked to see me. I could do thet, Kate;, ef I had you ter 
help me. Won't you, Kate, gal; won't yer marry me and help 
me ter be a decent man ? 

Kate {risiiig a)id crossing l., coldly). I cannot help you in the 
wav you wish. The farm is yours; you shall have it. 

Billy {passionately). I don't want the farm, gal; I want ter 
try a new life; I want you, Kate, 

Kate. No — William Berwyn; you will take the old farm and 
marrv some good girl who would do more for you than I ever 
could. 

Billy (madly). I won't — I won't change: I won't try ter 
change ef a'ou won't help me. Why can't you, Kate? You're 
not in love with any one else. By God, if you are — 

Kate (facing him). Well? 

Billy. No — no — I don't mean to threaten yer, gal. I was 
thinking of him. Why can't yer marry me — tell me, gal; 
tell me? 

Kate. Because, William Berwyn, in the first place I could 
not accept you for my husband, and in the second I am engaged 
to be married already. 

Billy (bangs fist on table). Who to? 

Kate (quietly). 1 will not tell you. 

Billy (furiously). I'll find him out, Kate. I give you fair 
warning; I'll kill thet man! 

Kate (smiles sadly). You cannot kill him, 

Billy. I can't, eh? It's safer to bet on thet with someone 
else besides Western Billy, I know who you're in love with, — 
Dudley Brant! 

Kate (quickly). No. 

Billy (/;/ rage). Yer don't fool me, gal — I've seen yer 



HADLEY. lOI 

together. I've got nothing agin Dudley Brant, but let him 
be careful when coming between you and me. 

Kate. The man I referred to does not live in Hadley. Dud- 
ley Brant and I are friends— excellent friends, and nothing 
more. Be careful how you threaten him. 

Billy {sharply). It's not Dudley Brant? 

Kate. No. 

Billy, All right, gal; yer may be speaking the truth and 
yermay belyin'. I'll keep an eye on yer both, (with sudden rage) 
You're a fool not to marry me. (with sudden repentance and 
humility) Forgive me, gal; I don't want ter threaten yer, but 
I love yer, Kate, and I won't have another ahead of me. 

(Enter Edward l. 3 e. unobserved by Kate and Billy. Leans 
against gate at c. twirling cane nonchalantly. Billy crosses to 
L. 3 e.) So keep him away from me, gal; keep him away from 
me, ef yer don't want trouble fer him and trouble fer all of us. 
(exit L. 1 E. Edward gazes calmly after him.) 

Kate (agitated). He has come at last. I knew it; I have 
felt it all these years. I must leave the farm; leave Berwyn for 
him. For that man who deserted his home, who broke his 
mother's heart; who killed her. Why does he come back now? 
He did not want the farm, or he would have remained at home. 
He is unworthy of it. Why didn't he stay out there in Arizona? 
Why didn't he die out there ? Marry him ! Not for a thousand 
Berwyns. I hate him — I despise him! He was cruel and 
cowardly as a boy, and used to hurt me when we played together. 
He is cruel and cowardly yet; he must be — men cannot change 
their natures. (Edward comes sloivly doivn c. Kate at r. c. 
not seeing him). He threatened Dudley. He dared to threaten 
Dudley! He threatened Edward — (turns, and on beholding 
Edward, starts back, with quick ejaculation). Edward! Ed- 
ivard Kingsley! (pause; then with anxious earnestness). Why 
have you come to Hadley? 

Edw. I came for you, Kate. 

Kate (looking at him doubtfully). After all these years? 

Edw. (extending his arms). After all these years. 

Kate (pause, as she holds back doubtfully. Then her face 
lighting radiantly with happiness). My Edward — at last! (glides 
fonvard with eyes fixed lovingly on him until his arms close about 
her. ) 

CURTAIN. 



I02 HADLEY. 



ACT 11. 

BERWYN. — Neatly furnished interior of old country homestead. 
Doors at c, r. and l. Windoiv at l. c; small secretary zvith 
writing materials and diary thereon at l. 1 e. 
(Kate standiiti:, in doonvay c. looking r. ; Anne at l. c. 
Clock on mantel at l. strikes nine as curtain rises.) 

Anne. Nine o'clock! Humph! 

Kate {in doorway). Well, Anne? 

Anne. 'Pears as if your fine city chap don't get up very 
early. 

Kate. Perhaps he is not accustomed to it. 

Anne (sharply). Well, human nature ought to make him 
accustomed on a morning like this; 'specialh^ after not seeing 
you for seven years. Lord, if I was as much in love as he says 
lie is, I'd be mooning 'round Berwyn before daylight. 

Kate (quietly). He will come. 

Anne (grumbling). Oh, I dare say! That's the way with 
those city chaps; all bom lazy I say. Now look at this one, 
who lives in white shirts and high collars, and carries a cane. 
(scornfully) A cane! What good is a man who carries a cane? 
Wonder if he knows what work is? He don't look it. 

Kate. I'm sorry you don't like him, Anne. 

Anne (bluntly). Well, I don't fancy him, that's a fact. Too 
smooth and good-looking for my taste. Besides, there's a 
something in his face I don't trust. 

Kate. You admit he is handsome. 

Anne (shortly). I've seen better. 

Kate, (earnestly). I never have. Seven years ago, I thought 
him as handsome as a young man could be. I was mistaken. 
He has much improved since. 

Anne. Deliver me from handsome men; they're conceited 
and not worth much. Besides, women spoil 'em, if they don't 
spoil themselves. Now, there was my Silas — the ugliest man 
in Hadley, and the best husband, too. But he had a wife who 
kept him steady. 

Kate. Edward waited for me through seven years. How 
many men would do that? 

Anne. Humph! Did he explain his silence during that 
time? 



hadle;y. 103 

Kate. Yes ; he sent me five letters, all of which were returned. 

Anne {incredulously). Returned? 

Kate. We know how that happened, Anne. After her 
daughter's trouble, Mrs. Berwyn hated all men from the cities. 
You remember how she opposed my engagement? 

Anne. But she never opened your letters. 

Kate. She forbade me seeing or hearing from Edward. Is 
it not likely that she returned any letters he sent me? 

Anne (Ipoking at Kate doubtfully). Without telling you 
of it? 

Kate. 1 fear it is so, Anne. 

Anne (bluntly). Well, I don't believe it. Mother Berwyn 
wouldn't deceive a human critter — much less you, whom she 
doted on. 

Kate. What would you have me believe? Edward would 
not lie to me. 

Anne (doggedly). I'm not so sure about that. 

Kate (facing Anne with indignant eyes). Anne! 

Anne. I don't like his face, dearie. I've seen such faces 
before, and their owners were more bad than good. 

Kate (with an outburst of indignation). You are insulting 
my Edward; you are hurting me when you say that, (turns 
away, going up c.) 

Anne (approaching Kate with relenting voice and manner). 
There, dearie, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm a harsh old woman 
that's what I am; and this sharp tongue of mine has a habit of 
saying what it means and saying it quickly. I didn't mean to 
hurt you, Kate, (pause.) 

Kate (turning and laying hand on Anne's arm). We will not 
quarrel, Anne. But don't speak against Edward. I love him 
too dearly to hear it. 

Anne (affectionately). I won't Katie; I won't. He may be 
all you think him — I hope so. He is good looking, and has some 
fine manners; but I don't like his — (interrupting herself). There 
— I won't say another word, not another word, Katie. (pausing 
at door, r. 2. e.) But I can't help wishing he never came near here. 
(exit Anne r. 2 e. Kate comes thoughtfully down l. ; stops 
with her hand on chair before secretary at l. 2 e. Thoughtfully 
picks up diary that lies on desk.) 

Kate. My diary. I forgot to write in it last night. Last 
night I forgot everything except my Edward, (sits at secretary 
and writes in diary. Pause.) 

(Enter Edward at c. He hesitates in doorway regarding her; 
then comes down l, c. and stands leaning against back of Kate's- 
chair. ) 



I04 HADLEY. 

Edw. Well ? 

Kate (rising with joyous little exclamation). Edward! 

Edw. (folding her in his arms fondly). Kate! 

Kate (looking up into Jiis face). The hours ha;ve been so long. 

Edw. Since we parted? 

Kate. Yes. 

Edw. They were but nine. 

Kate (fondly). But nine too many for me. 

Edw. (indicating diary). What have you there? 

Kate. My diary. I usually write in it at night, but last 
night — well, you know I had no mind for diaries last night. 
(takes up book and hands it to Edward). See what I entered for 
yesterday, (leans agai)ist Jiis arm as he reads.) 

Edw. (reading.) "The most beautiful day in all the year, for 
Edward has come. I have waited for him seven long years." 
(laying book on secretary and passing arm around Kate). You 
are happy, Kate? 

Kate. The happiest woman in the world. 

Edw. (crosses r., aside). I feel like a beast deceiving her. 
(aloud). You warned me of your guardian's prejudice. When 
my letters were returned I was disappointed, but not surprised. 
Then I settled down to work for the little woman who was wait- 
ing for me in Hadle3\ She told me to come when I could inarry 
her. I am here, Kate. 

Kate (lovijigly). My Edward! Another man would have 
forgotten me. 

Edw. You did not forget me, Kate? 

Kate (firmly). Never! The waiting was harder for me, for 
women love as men cannot. I begged permission to write to 
3'ou. I begged so earnestly; but my guardian was inexorable, 
and I could not deceive her. And so there was nothing to do 
but wait and wait ; and day and month' and year went by with- 
out your coming. They were long, long years to me. 

Edw. (crosses to her). Do you remember the last night we 
were together? That night in the city, seven years ago? 

Kate. I shall never forget that night. 

Edward. Only six weeks had I known] you, yet we parted 
lovers. You cried at that parting, Kate. 

Kate. I have cried since, when month and year passed 
without 3'our coming. We were on the lawn that night, with 
the stars shining above, and the lights of the city all around us. 
You remember we sat listening to the music which poured out 
through the tall open window. That night we were happy and 
sad; happy with each other; sad at the thought of separation 
which must come on the morrow. 



HADLEY. 105 

Edw. That night I slipped this ring on your finger (fingering 
ring on her left hand, sincerely). That night I resolved to work 
hard to win name and position. 

Kate (lovingly). And I promised to wait while you worked. 
You remember your grief, your sorrow, when I said we must 
wait, years, perhaps, without seeing or hearing from each 
other? You remember your words at out parting — "Kate, 
Kate — wait for me, little girl. I will come." I have never 
forgotten those words. Good, honest gentlemen have offered 
me their homes and their hearts, but I never considered their 
offers. I was bound to one man — one man, whom I knew 
was winning a home for himself and for me in that far distant 
city. 

Edw. (crosses c. with feeling). Kate, I'm not the man you 
knew then. That night I was honest. My love was sincere. 
(bitterly). I'm an older man now, and one whom the world 
has conquered. 

Kate (softly). Do you love mei' 

Edw. (pressing her to him). I do that, little girl, I do that! 

Kate. That is all I require. You are young; you have 
made mistakes, doubtless; but life is before you in which to 
correct them. 

Edw. (ivith sincerity). My past life was not as it should be. 
Will you help me, little Kate, to become a good man? 

Kate (softly). Is it not woman's province to encourage 
the man whom she loves. I rejoice that you need me. 

Edw. (looking at her keenly). Suppose a friend should tell 
you your lover was not honest? 

Kate (promptly). I would not believe him. 

Edw. (eagerly). You would not believe it? Think, Kate; 
if your best friend should make that accusation. ? 

Kate (smiling). How foolish a question! My lover comes 
before all friends. 

Edw. (pacing stage at r. restlessly. Stops suddenly). Kate, I 
have an enemy in Hadley. 

Kate (surprised). In Hadley? 

Edw. a man who would be quite relentless. Who will 
destroy your love for me, if that lies in his power. 

Kate (quickly). Who is this man! I shall hate him! 

Edw. This man holds me in his power. He can drive me 
from Hadley; he can drive me from you, Kate, (walks thoiight- 
ftdly up to window, l. c.) 

Kate (quickly). He cannot do that. Who is this man? Let 
me know him. 

Edw. His name is — (glances through ivindow, then turning 



Io6 HADLEY. 

quickly to Kate) — He is coming up the path at this moment. 
{comes nervously doivn l. c. standing with hack to c. door.) 

Kate (looking at Edward strangely). Why, Edward! 

Edw. (nervously) . Wait, and see. 

(Enter Dudley Brant in doorway at c.) 

Kate, (with exclamation of surprise). Dudley Brant! 

Dud. Good morning, Katharine. Why such emphasis on 
my name? 

Kate (looking strangely at Dudley, then crossing to Edward). 
Edward, are you sure. Is this the man? 

Edw. (in low voice, ivith face turned from Dudley). Yes. 

Dud. (seeing Edward for first time. To Kate). I beg your 
pardon. Perhaps I intrude? (makes move to exit at c.) 

Kate (motioning to Dudley). Wait, (appealingly to Ed- 
ward) Edward! (Edward still standing zvith back turned to 
Dudley, Kate ashamed of his iveakness faces Dudley firmlyl) 
Mr. Brant, I wish to make you acquainted with Mr. Kingsley — 
(Dudley steps back ivith surprise) the gentleman I am going to 
marry, (pause. Dudley standing straight and some^vhat stiffly, 
only his fingers working nervously). 

Dud. (coming down r. c, speaking firmly). No, Kate, you 
shall not marry that man. (pause.) 

Kate (speaking ivith low, but earnest vehemence). By what 
authority do you make that statement? Are you my guardian, 
or are you his? 

Dud. (quietly, yet fir inly). I am your friend, Katharine. If 
friendship possesses any authority, I shall use it to protect you. 

Kate. Friendship? What is the authority of friendship to 
that of love? 

Dud. (as though disbelieving his ears). Do you love Edward 
Kingsley ? 

Kate (ivith forced calmness). I have said I will marry him. 
Surely I'll marry no man I do not love. 

Dud. (stendy). Where and how did this — this fellow make 
your acquaintance? 

Kate. Again I ask by what authority you question me? 

Dud. (recovering himself). True — true; I was wrong. I 
crave your pardon, (turning sternly toward Edward) My 
questions are for him to answer. 

Kate (quickly stepping hctiveen Dudley and Edward). He 
has told me of the advantage you hold over him. 

Dud. Did he tell you what gave me that advantage? (drily, 
as Kate remains silent) I thought not. Kate, this man is a rascal. 

Kate (indignantly). He is a gentleman — as honorable a 
gentleman as I have known. 



HADLEY. 107 

Dud. (quietly). Pardon me if I differ with that opinion. 

Kate (keenly). Too honorable to slander a man who cannot 
resist. 

Dud. (boiciiig his head sadly). Kate! Kate! (pause). Have I 
been an unworthy friend these past three years? 

Kate (i}i softened voice). No. 

Dud. Think, Katharine. Have I ever spoken or counselled 
against your interests? 

Kate. I never found fault with your friendship until this 
moment. 

Dud. Nor would you find fault with it now, if you knew 
my reasons. I know this man as you cannot. 

Kate (firmly). I know him. I trust him; I love him. 

Dud. No, Kate; to know is to distrust him. I have lived 
with him; I have trusted him, and he betrayed that trust. I 
ask whether you or I should be the better judge. 

Kate. I am the best judge of the man I would marry. I 
knew him years before I knew you, Dudley Brant. 

Dud. If he was a good man then, he has changed in those 
years. Has he confessed to his weaknesses? 

Kate. I have not asked that confession. 

Dud. You are determined to marry him. 

Kate. I am determined to marry him. 

Dud. Without knowing the man? 

Kate. ' I know him; I love him — that is my answer. 

Dud. Very good; I must now deal with him. (to Edward) 
Edward Kingsley, I desire a few minutes' conversation. (Kate 
looks at Edward who stands looking fixedly in front of him). If 
you refuse, you can imagine the consequences. (Edward opens 
and clasps his hands convulsively). 

Kate (turning angrily on Dudley). If you come to threaten 
my guest, I shall request you to leave my house. 

Dud. (turning and taking hat from table beside c. door). Your 
pardon for this intrusion, (bows head) 1 shall disturb you no longer 
with my presence, (raising head and speaking significantly at 
Edward). However, Mr. Kingsley will accompany me, 

Kate (with temper). Mr. Kingsley will not. 

Dud. (quietly to Kate). Pardon me; but I think he will. 
(to Edward) Will 3^ou come? 

Edw. (aside). Curse it! (to Kate) Kate, I must speak with 
him. Leave us. 

Kate (expostulating). Edward! 

Edw. (nervously). Yes — yes — I must, (pause). 

Kate. Since you request it, I will leave you. (crosses to 
Edward). Don't keep Mr. Brant long, for I shall be waiting. 



I08 HADLEY. 

(lifts her face towards his, expecting caress). Won't you kiss me 
Edward? (Edward hesitates; glances timidly at Dudley at c. 
and then kisses Kate coldly. Kate crosses to l. 1 e. to Edward). 
Remember, I am waiting, {exit l. 1 e.) 

Dud. Where did you meet Miss Berwyn? 

Edw. {sullenly). In Philadelphia. 

Dud. When? 

Edw, Seven years ago. 

Dud. So, so. — {paces stage thoughtfully at r. with hands 
clasped behind hitn; stops suddenly, confronting Edward). You 
understand, you cannot marry her? I should be a poor friend 
if I allowed Katharine to debase herself in that manner. (Ed- 
ward clenches fists convulsively). Where have you been since 
last I saw you? 

Edw. {sullenly). In Chicago, {impetuously) — I couldn't get 
a start there; my cursed luck was against me. 

Dud. {sternly). Your cursed vices, you mean. Your pro- 
pensity for cards, for horses, for women, — for everything un- 
worthy of a gentleman. So when luck went against you, you 
thought of this pure little woman and her large farm in Hadley. 
You stole her love years ago — 'tis not difficult for a handsome 
young rake to win the regard of a girl,— you now come to steal 
her property. 

Edw. You wrong me there, Dudley Brant. I'm a bad lot, 
but I loved Kate when I met her. {sullenly) 1 love her now. 

Dud. {drily). How faithful you have been to her. 

Edw. (doggedly). No worse than other men, I suppose. 

DuD. (after pause, while looking at Edward attentively). You 
say you love Kate? 

Edw. Yes. 

Dud. And wish to make her your wife? 

Edw. I do. 

Dud. In that case you have confessed everything, (with touch 
of sarcasm). She has forgiven your errors? 

Edw. No. 

Dud. I thought not, 

Edw, There are some passages in a man's life which must 
remain sealed. 

Dud. Only dishonest men are so fearful. Confess, Edward 
Kingsley, that you are mercenary in this, as you have been 
mercenary in all things. Confess that you came to Hadley — 
not for love of Kate, but for love of Kate's property. Ah, yes — 
it is a pretty place; is it not? It would yield you several thou- 
sands, and the love of this pure, trusting woman. With both 
you could amuse yourself for a time, (solemnly). But, young 



HADLEY. 109 

man, there is a Providence above this universe which will oc- 
casionally protect the weak and withstand the strong. That 
Power frustrated your design when it led me to Hadley — I, 
Dudley Brant, the man you have most reason to fear. So you 
thought to add little Kate to your victims? You coward! 

Edw. (clenching fists and starting forward nervously). Be 
careful ! 

Dud. (standing calmly, with arms folded). Lay hand on me 
and I'll throttle you. I came near doing so when your lips 
touched her cheek. 

Edw. I'll pay back your money — every cursed cent. 

Dud. With Miss Berwyn's property? No, I thank you. 
(sternly) Now, Edward Kingsley, you appreciate your danger. 
Five years ago you were my secretary, implicitly trusted by me. 
You rewarded that confidence by embezzling fifteen hundred 
dollars of my money, seven hundred of which I recovered. I 
spared you at the time for the sake of your mother. However, 
your crime remains, and at a word from me, the law seizes you 
for punishment. When I leave this house, it is to obtain a 
warrant for your arrest. That warrant will be served unless 
you leave Hadley within an hour; (with emphasis) leave Hadley 
never to return, 

Edw. (impetuously). Is this right — is this fair! I love Kate 
Berwyn. I've been weak and foolish I admit, but I had tempta- 
tions. Kate can cure me of that. Take her from me, and I'll 
go straight to the devil. 

Dud. Only cowards and villians make such threats. How- 
ever, between the two sacrifices I choose to save Kate, who is 
spotless. 

Edw. We are rivals, Dudley Brant; we will recognize that. 
Let the woman be the prize with a fair field for both. You're 
a generous minded man, — all I ask is fair play. 

Dud, I decline to enter the competition. 

Edw. You refuse to give me a chance? You'll use this cow- 
ardly advantage? 

Dud, For Kate's sake I will. 

Edw. (sneering). For Kate's sake! For your own sake, you 
mean. With me out of the way, you think Kate will succumb 
to your wooing. Well, we'll see. Remember, she waited for 
me seven years. 

Dud. We will not discuss that. 

Edw. If you won't consider me, think of Kate. — She loves 
me. (Dudley passes his hand thotightftdly across his forehead; then 
paces stage at r, Edw, approaches, speaking quickly). She 
does. You saw how she left us just now. If you send me 



no HADLEY. 

away, vou will give her pain; vou will hurt a woman, Dudley 
Brant? 

Dud. (harshly). She will forget that girlish infatuation. 

Edw. She will not forget! Why has she waited all these 
3^ears. Why resisted you and a score of your neighbors? Be- 
cause she has met the man she loves, and because a woman, with 
her nature clings to that love through a life-time. 

Dud. You lie, you cur! Were I to tell her one half your 
history, she would despise you. 

Edw. Tell her all, and be damned. We will see if she loves 
me. (crosses toivard l. 1 e., n'hcre Kate made exit.) 

Dud. (quickly, and raising -finger zvarningly). Stop! 

Edw. (pausing irresolutely). Well? 

Dud. (quietly). Do not call her. You are not to see Kate 
Berwyn again. 

Edw. (uneasily). What do you mean? 

Dud. (sternly). If you do so — or attempt to do so — you go 
to prison. 

Edw. (fiercely). You will do this? 

Dud. (quietly). On my word as a gentleman. (Edward 
crosses to Dudley threateningly. Dudley faces him calmly.) 

Edw. Be careful, or I'll kill you. 

Dud. (calmly). Now, sit there and write, (points to Kate's 
secretary at l.) 

Edw. Write? 

Dud. Write your note, bidding farewell to Miss Berwyn. 
(looking at zcatch). You have ten minutes to catch the next 
train leaving Hadley. I will attend to your baggage. (Ed- 
ward remains at c, ivith fists clenched and eyes glaring. Then 
eyes become fixed as thought strikes him. Glances quickly toward 
Dudley icho lias turned aivay; then towards secretary. Dudley 
comes dow}i.) Now, write as I dictate. 

Edw. (roughly). I will write my own note. 

Dud. As you please, but you will submit it for my reading 

Edw. No! 

Dud. (sternly). Yes. (Edward renmins deep in thought, 
knitting brows craftily.) 

Edw. Very well, (crosses l. a)id sits by secretary.) 

Dud. (at c). Write that you are leaving Hadley never to re- 
turn. 

Edw. (interrupting surlily). I'll write my own note, I say. 
If you don't like it, destroy it. 

Dud. (quietly). I shall, (goes up to leiiuiow at l. c. sta)iding 
looking out with hatuis clasped behitid hi)n.) 

Edw. (looki)ig after Dudley witJi face expressive of hatred and 



IIADLEY. , 111 

triumph. Aside). Kate's diary. {vcJicmcntly). Good! (writes 
rapidly on paper). "My darling: This man believes I have left 
Hadley forever. That is impossible after seeing you again. If 
you love me meet me in the orchard beneath your window at 
nine this evening. If you will marry me immediately this 
man's power over me will cease." {looking itp from paper) Yes, by 
Heaven, he'll not prosecute Kate's husband! (zvriting) "You 
alone in all this world can save me," (folds note quickly, after 
glancing suspiciously toivard Dudley). This goes in the diary 
where she will find it to-night, if not sooner, (opens diary, 
turns pages cautiously and inserts note. Then pushes back chair, 
tearing up sheet of blank paper noisily ivJiich he casts in waste 
basket. Rises from secretary.) 

Dud. (turning). Have you finished? 

Edw. (sullenly). No. 

Dud. Perhaps I'd better assist you? 

Edw. Wait, (throivs himself in chair before secretary and 
writes rapidly. Rises and crosses c.) It is finished. 

Dud. (coming down to secretary, takes up note and reads) "My 
dear Miss Berwyn : I am leaving Hadley quite suddenly. Though 
you will never see me again, do not forget me. Good bye, Kate. 
Think of me sometimes when you write in that little diary." 
(to Edward) That last sentence is superfluous. 

Edw. (roughly). Too sentimental, eh? Shall I change it? 

Dud. No, let it remain. I will deliver the note myself. 

Edw. (harshly). And tell her my history at the same time, 
I suppose? 

Dud. I shall tell Katharine you are unworthy of her — 
nothing more, (looking at ivatch). Now you have four minutes 
to train time. Farewell, Edward Kingsley. I shall exact no 
promise from you to remain away from Hadley, as you well 
know the consequences should you return. I trust you will be- 
come an honest man. 

Edw. (laughing ironically). Honest! What advice from the 
lips of a thief (approaching Dudley fiercely). You are a thief, 
Dudley Brant; you are stealing Kate from me. (going up c.) 
But never fear. My turn will come next, (exit c.) 

Dud. (goes slowly up c. and stands in doorway looking l., 
musingly). I may have been stern, but the occasion demanded 
it. (pause, while looking off l.) He is nearing the station now; I 
can see him no longer for the trees, (comes down) In less than 
two minutes' time, Edward Kingsley will be leaving Hadley. 
(looks toward l. 1 e. Then paces stage with hands clasped be- 
hind him. Stops suddenly). Suppose he deceives me? Suppose 
he does not leave? (goes quickly iip c. taking up hat, but pauses in 



112 HADLEY. 

doorway). No; that is unlikely. He knows I am a man to keep 
my word, {thoughtfully) But I must be careful — I must be 
careful, {comes down stage). Poor Kate, {sits in chair before 
secretary, looking toward door, l. 1 e.) Will she suffer? Will she 
hate me for this morning's work? How difficult is one's duty 
at moments; how liable to misconstruction, {rises, going up c. 
dooncay, and looking l.; then comes slowly down l. c. and knocks 
gently at door, l. 1 e.) 

{Enter Kate l. 1 e. sweeping past Dudley to c.) 

Kate {glancing hastily aronnd, then quickly, at Dud.). Where 
is Edward? 

Dud. {quietly regarding her). He is leaving Hadley. 

Kate {excitedly). Leaving Hadley? How? When? {quickly 
seizing hat, which she adjusts nervously). He warned me you were 
his enemy, but you shall not drive him from me. {goes hastily up 
to c. door.) 

Dud. Where are you going? 

Kate. After him whom I love, {noise of train 'slopping at 
station a short distance off l. b.) 

Dud. {sadly). You will not find him. 

Kate {in doorway). I will. He was here a moment ago. He 
cannot depart so quickly. 

Dud. {holding up one finger). Listen! 

Kate {shuddering). The train! 

Dud. That train is bearing him away from Hadley. 

Kate {dumbly). Taking Edward from Hadley? 

Dud. {passing hand across face). This note is for you, my 
poor Kate. (Kate comes quickly down l. c, seizes note from 
Dudley's hand and opens it hurriedly.) 

Kate {reading in frightened voice). "I am leaving Hadley 
quite suddenly — " {looks up at Dudley) This is Edward's hand- 
writing? (Dudley bites his lip grimly; Kate looking at note) What 
is this — what is this? {reads) "I am leaving Hadley quite sud- 
denly. Though you will never see me again, do not forget me — " 
{murmuring as she crosses slowly to table at r. c. ivith eyes fixed on 
letter) — As though I could forget him! As though I could forget 
him! {walks up against table, her eyes still fixed on letter; then 
suddenly falls in chair, her face Jiidden in arms on table, sobbing 
violently). 

Dud. {crosses r. and laying his hand on the back of Kate's chair, 
looking down at her; then crosses l. once more. Sadly) Am I the 
cause of this? 

Kate {rising hastily, leaving note on table; turns madly on Dud- 
ley, ivJw regards her sadly). That note is not Edward Kingsley's ! 

Dud. {quietly). I did not write it, Kate. 



HADLEY. 113 

Kate. But you dictated while he wrote. 

Dud. No, Katharine. 

Kate. It was you who compelled him to write it? 

Dud. {noddiuf:, head). Yes. 

Kate. Why have you done this? 

Dud. (slowly). Because this man is unworthy of you. If 
you knew him as I do, pure woman that you are, you would 
despise him. 

Kate {vehemently). It is you, Dudley Brant, who have taken 
him from me. {fiercely). Bring him back — bring him back; 
or I shall hate you! 

Dud. {quietly). He will not return, Katharine. 

Kate {pleadingly). Dudley — Dudley — think how long I 
have waited! Seven years, seven long, long, years, Dudley. I 
have thought of him every day, every hour of that time. I have 
watched for him; I have prayed for him; Oh, I have prayed so 
earnestly for his coming. And now that he has come, you would 
take him from me. You are not hard hearted; you will not do 
that; I have lived for this man; I love him so dearly — so dearly. 
You will not destroy my happiness; you will not do that, Dud- 
ley — you will not do that! {sinks in chair before Dudley, pres- 
sing her face in hands against back of chair.) 

Dud. {stroking her hair and looking doivn at her). My poor 
Kate — my poor Kate! 

Kate {pleadingly). Tell me you will bring him back, Dudley! 

Dud. {compassionately) Little woman, you make my dut}^ 
hard for me. Come, {lifts her by shoulders to standing position.) 

Kate {looking up into his face imploringly). You will bring 
Edward back to me? 

Dud. {gently). For your own sake, Kate, I refuse. 

Kate {moving away from Dudley, looking at him strangely). 
For my own sake! {with low, hysteric laughter). For my own sake! 

Dud. I know the man, Katharine; he has made oMier women 
unhappy; he would make you unhappy. 

Kate {looking fearfully at Dudley with hand to cheek; intensely). 
Dudley Brant; by what authority do you come between me and 
him whom I love? 

Dud. By the authority of friendship, Katharine. 

Kate {bitterly). Friendship! He is no friend who gives me 
pain. 

Dud. God knows, I would spare you a greater pain. 

Kate {impetuously). Who are you to judge? Who are you 
to say I shall marry this man or that? The selection is mine, 
and I will make it. This man I love and this man I will marry. 
I care not what he is or was. 



114 HADLEY. 

Dud. {gravely). This is a different Kate from the one I knew. 

Kate {vehemently). You hear? I love Edward Kingsley. 

Dud. (bitterly). I hope not — I hope not! 

Kate. And he loves me. 

Dud. {xvith emphasis). No! — Such men as he can love naught 
else besides themselves. The outward forms of love are easily 
assumed. He is an adept at such and has deceived you. 

Kate. It is a lie! (Dudley starts haek as tJwiiiih she had 
stniek him). Is this your kindness? Is this your friendship? 
Is this your boasted chivalry? 

Dud. {interrupting). Kate — Kate! 

Kate {seornfnlly). Is this Dudley Brant — the man whose 
good deeds ring throughout the neighborhood; the man whom 
people love and all beheve? Is this your charity? {fiercely). 
I demand my share. I demand that which is naught to you but 
all in all to me. — I demand the man I love! {pause; Dudley re- 
niaiiis quiet icitli arms folded). If you refuse, my friendship turns 
to scorn; my regard to hate, as one would hate a cruel man who 
strikes a woman. 

Dud. {gently). Enough, Katharine. 

Kate. He may have wronged you, but I am guiltless of that 
wrong. Why visit your revenge on me? Or do you envy him 
mv love? You'll not change me by sending him away. From 
this time forth I hate you as an enemy; — a thief who stole my 
love. 

Dud. {iiarshly). Is tliis all? 

Kate {turning away in an agony of feeling). All! My God! 
What more can I say to plead my cause! {falls into chair at table 
R. c. sobbi)ig bitterly). 

Dud. {sta)idijig over her). If my heart is hard to-day it is to 
save you from yourself. Farewell, {tnrns and exits at c. Kate 
rci)tai)is with head lying in arms at table. After pause, she raises 
head. Her eyes rest on note lying before her. Smoothes it on 
table.) Hisnote; — Edward's note! {reads, ivith tearful voice) "lam 
leaving Hadlcy quite suddenly. Though you will never see 
me again, do not forget me. Good bye, Kate. Think of me 
sometimes when you write in that little diary." Have I not 
thought of him every day — every hour almost in seven long 
vears! {rising, ivith sudden determiimtion). Now, to follow him! 
To find him — to marry him; if he will take me! And then 
awav from Dudley, from Hadley — anywhere — anywhere ! {crosses 
quickly to r. 1 e. Opens door and calls off softly). Anne! 

Anne, {off r. 2 e.). Yes, Kate. 

Kate. I am going out, Anne. I may be gone for some 
hours. You will not worry? 



HADIvKY. 115 

Anne (off r. 2 e.). No, dearie. 

Kate (closes door, crosses stai:^e and exits l. 1 e. takiui^ hat. Re- 
enters immediately with hat on and coat under arm; unlocks drawer 
in secretary at l. 1 e., takint:, from it a purse with money; is about 
to close secretary when she notices diary; picks up diary with tears 
in eyes). He said : "Think of me when you write in that little 
diary." I was so happy yesterday. I was so happy this morn- 
ing wlien he stood behind my chair as I wrote, (idly turning 
leaves). I thought that the years of waiting were at an end. 
I was so happy when I wrote "the most beautiful day in all the 
year, for Edward has come. " A few hours ago I wrote those 
words — {interrupting herself as note falls from diary). What is 
this? A note.'' (hastily unfolds note, dropping coat while sitting at 
secretary.) From Edward! From hldward! (reads eagerly). 
"My darling: this man believes I have left Hadley forever. 
That is impossible after seeing you again. If you love me meet 
me in the orchard beneath your window at nine this evening. If 
you will marry me immediately this man's power over me will 
cease. You alone in all the world can save me. Edward." 
(Lays note on secretary with radiant face. Slowly unpins hat and 
lays it on secretary, sits hack in chair, drawing a deep breath, and 
letting eyes rest on note, which she takes up, repeating last sentence 
fondly). "You alone in all this world can save me." (leans 
slowly forward, letting eyes dwell on note with fascination; allows 
face to draw nearer and nearer note until it is crushed between 
her face and hands. Then both head and hands sink on secre- 
tary before her.) 

CURTAIN. 



Il6 HADLEY. 



ACT III. 

THE BERWYN ORCHARD.— A^^g/ii. Rear of Bcrivyn home- 
stead at L. c. B. House dark but for light in window, l. c, some 
six feet above ground. Door to left of windoiv ivith flight of 
wooden steps leading down. Tree-trunks with bench seats 
at c, R. 1 E. and l. 2 e. Vista of laivn and moonlight at r. b. 
Loiv-hanging foliage. 

(Dudley discovered in shadow of tree at r. c.) 

Dud. (soliloquizing). I fear I am a fool. I, a man nearing 
fifty, have turned night prowler; I, a respectable citizen, have 
avoided the highway, wishing to pass unobserved; I, a somewhat 
dignified man, have climbed a seven-foot wall and am now 
trespassing on my neighbor's estate. And what for? Twice 
during the past half hour have I seen Kate's figure outlined 
against that window; and each time I experienced a distinct 
sensation of pleasure. If I were young I should say I was senti- 
mental. Not being young, there is no excuse for this folly. 
I am simply a fool, that is all. (pause). I was too stern with 
little Katharine this morning. In my indignation against the 
man she loves, I came near forgetting that her grief needed com- 
passion. Ah, me; to think that Providence should select me of 
all men to give her pain. Will she ever forgive me! (turns 
from ivi}idoiv crossing c, Jiis attention suddenly attracted off r.) 
Ah, I am not the only night prowler. Whom have we here? 
(crossing quickly, conceals himself behind tree l. 2 e.) 

(Enter Harvey and Elmer r. 1 e.) 

Elmer. What brought you in here, Harvey? 

Har. (in an undertone). Elmer, there's something up. 
(looking around carefully). It's thet cuss from the city — thet 
Mr. Kingsley. Where dy'e suppose he's been all day? 

Elm. I give it up, Harvey. 

Har. (pointing off l. 3 e.). He's been over on the hill in the 
wood there. Thet's where he's been. 

Elm. (i) I differently). What was he doin' there, — catchin' 
mosquiters ? 

Har. No, he wasn't ketchin' anythin'. He was just sitting 
on a rock there, — thinkin'. 



HADLEY. 1 1 7 

Elm. Well, thet ain't much to be doing. 

Har. Now do you know what I'm thinkin'? (tuith delibera- 
tion) I'm thinkin' thet thet city cuss is wantin' to marry Kate 
Berwyn. 

Elm. (surprised). What! You think thet because he sat on 
a rock over there, and — 

Har. (interrupting). No — no, Elmer. I'm thinkin' he wants 
to marry her because of some other things thet happened. Now 
he stayed right here in this orchard all yesterday afternoon with 
Kate; didn't he? 

Elm. (reflectively). Thet's so, Harvey. 

Har. And along toward nightfall, when he thought nobody 
was around, I saw him kissing Kate in this orchard; thet's 
what I saw. 

Elm. (surprised and indignant). Did you, Harvey? The 
confounded city cuss. 

Har. Now, thet's pretty serious, ain't it? Well, I know 
something thet's more so. I watched thet city cuss up in the 
woods all afternoon and towards evenin', when it was getting 
quite dark, he slipped down to Hadley, being careful nobody 
should see him. Nobody did see him — 'cept me. 

Elm. (looking at Harvey with admiration). You're a reg'lar 
detective, Harvey! 

Har. (abruptly). Shet up, Elmer, and listen. Thet city cuss 
sneaked up to Featherby's farm and called for a team. And 
guess what he said? He said he wanted to drive a lady over 
to Pine Grove, and thet he would probably marry her. Told 
old Featherby he'd give him ten dollars if the team was ready 
by sharp nine this evenin'. Then he seemed to recollect himself 
and told Featherby thet he was joking when he said he intended 
to marry the woman; but thet the ten dollars would hold good, 
just the same. I heard every word of it. 

Elm. Gorsch, Harvey — but how do you know its Kate? 

Har. Who else would he be wantin' to marry after kissing 
her in this orchard yesterday? Besides, he don't know any 
other women in Hadley. 

Elm. None 'cept Sue Perknis and Jane Holly. 

Har. And he wouldn't marry. them, of course. 

Elm. (reflectively). Thet's so, Harvey. Nobody would 
marry them— leastwise, nobody thet's sensible. 

Har. Now, what we want to do is to warn Billy. Billy's 
interested in Kate, and. he'll settle thet city cuss. 

Elm. Billy hasn't much nerve, Harvey. 

Har. Well, thet depends on how much he's been drinkin'. 
How much hez he been drinkin', Elmer? 



1 1 8 HADLEY. 

Elm. Same as usual. 

Har. Well, thet ought to be enough, (as Elmer is aboitt to 
exit). Wait, Elmer. Before we tell Billy, we want to get thet 
pistol of his. Billy would shoot ef he's drunk enough, and we 
don't want to hev any shootin'. Fists is the things we're goin' 
to use to-night, Elmer. 

Elm. Billy will be drunk, and I'll get thet pistol all right. 

Har. Come along then, (exit Harvey and Elmer l. 2 e. 
riumiiii:. Dudley leaves sJiadow of tree at l. 2 e. a)id crosses to c.) 

Dud. I know what led me across these fields; I know what 
led me to scale that wall; I know what led me to be a fool; 
it was Providence. Providence, which has given Kate one 
more chance to save herself from this man. So the rascal 
deceived me. Now, let me see — let me see. (paces stage at c. 
thoitghtfiilly). Shall I summon the sheriff and arrest the fellow? 
(looks at icatcli) There is scarcely time for that, (ivith determin- 
ation) No; I shall take the advice the boys gave me. Yes, 
Harvey; fists are the things to-night. I shall thrash Edward 
Kingsley so thoroughly that he will not think of marriage 
for a twelvemonth. Ah! (starts quickly behind tree at r. c. at 
click of casement l. c. b. Casement is opened by Kate, ivhosc 
figure is outlined in leijuioiv frame. Furnished room ivithiti, 
piano at back. Kate leans against casonent frame looking out.) 

Kate (murmuring). It is time — it is time! Why does he 
linger? I love all things to-night. How beautiful is the sky, 
the earth — everything. Hadley was never so perfect as in this 
moonlight. Why does Edward' linger? (turns into rooni and sits 
at piano singing softly:) 

"Come, my love, the stars are shining, 
Time is flying, love is sighing; 
Come, for thee a heart is pining — 
Here alone I wait for thee." 
(as Kate sings, Dudley's attention is attracted off l. 2 e. He 
suddenly draws back, retreating behind tree at r. 1 e.) 

(Enter Edward, during last lines of song, at l. 2 e. Staiids in 
glare of light from open casenioit, looking at Kate.) 

Edw. (as Kate concludes si)iging). Kate, I am here. 

Kate (risi)ig from pia)io with joyous cry ami hastoiiiig to win- 
dow). Edward! (Edward goes- up close to wimlow, seizes her 
hand and kisses it). Wait! (hastily leaves casemetit. Dudley 
takes step toward Edward ivhoi Kate appears in doorway, l. c. b. 
Dudley draws back to tree. Kate descends steps.) 

Edw. (embracing her at foot of steps). My darling! 

Kate (with arms about his neck as she stands on step above him). 
You have come — vou have come! 



IIADLEY. 119 

Edw. Never to leave you again, little Kate. 

Kate. Dudley told me that the train was taking you from 
me. 

Edw. He lied to you, Kate. 

Kate. But why did you leave? 

Edw. I was powerless to resist, (they cross and sit at rustic 
bench under tree at c.) Only a lucky inspiration prevented him 
parting us forever. 

Kate {looking up into his face). Edward, what power does 
this man hold over you? 

Edw. {evasively). Hush, Kate; let us not speak of him. We 
are re-united to-night. Let us think of naught but ourselves 
and the future. 

Kate {speaking firmly, while releasing herself from Edward's 
embrace, and rising). Ah! But I wish to know. 

Edw. {rising also). Wherefore? 

Kate. Because that question may concern our happiness. 
(Edward paces stage thoughtfully, then approaches Kate). 

Edw. Kate, there is a carriage waiting beyond the orchard 
wall. 

Kate {smiling anil giving him her hands, ichich lu^ clasps). A 
carriage — for us? 

Edw. Will you marry me, little girl? The license is in my 
pocket: the minister is waiting at Pine Grove, five miles from 
here. (Kate alloivs her head to si)ik thoughtfully). Do you love me 
enough to marry me, Kate? 

Kate {slowly; looking fixedly in his face). Yes, I love you 
enough to marry you. 

Edw. {about to joyfully clasp Juv in his arms). You zvill 
marry me, to-night — ? 

Kate {gently resisting him). Wait! My question must be 
answered first. 

Edw. {impatiently). What time is this for questions? Marry 
me, and I'll spend my life in answering them. 

Kate (smilijig seriously). It might then be too late. Once 
bound, a woman loses much authority. 

Edw. Will you marry me if I answer this? 

Kate. Yes. 

Edw. You will marry me immediately ? 

Kate {with a little hesitation). If you insist. 

Edw. {kissing her hand). 1 do insist. Out with your question 
then; I long to have done with it. {paces stage thoughtfully at l.) 

Kate. Dudley Brant spoke with you this morning. He 
threatened you. What power was his to drive you away from 
me; away from Hadley? 



1 20 HADLEY. 

Edw. This is your only question? 

Kate. Yes — but it must be answered to my satisfaction. 

Edw. That is not difficult. I confess I was afraid. 

Kate (stniling). Evidently. 

Edw. (quickly). Not of him, but of you. 

Kate (curiously). Of me? 

Edw. I feared the effect of something he could tell. 

Kate. About yourself? 

Edw. (hanging head). Yes, Kate. 

Kate (going up to hint gently). Edward, I want you to tell 
me everything that Dudley could or would. 

Edw. (expostulati)ig). Kate! 

Kate (ivith gentle decision). Everything. 

Edw. (looking down at her). Don't you trust me. little girl? 

Kate. Don't you trust mel I would know the man I marry; 
that is all. You need not fear my love, for women forgive some 
men too easily. Tell me all. If you have trouble, I wish to 
bear my share; if you have sinned, I can forgive and sympathize. 
(firndy) But tell me everytliing. (Edward paces stage irresolutely.) 

Edw. You might not forgive so readily as you think. 

Kate (ivith tears in eyes). Is vour guilt so great? Have you 
been so very weak? I am pained to hear that speech from you. 
(stanipi}ig foot ivith determination). But tell me all; for it is my 
right to know. Tell me — or I leave you here and now. / 

Edw. (looking at her sharply; then in penitent tone). Kate, I 
have wasted some opportunities. 

Kate (encouragingly) . Who has not, in a lifetime? 

Edw. (humbly). I have spent some time in riotous living. 
Dudley Brant could tell you I am a spendthrift. He sets a high 
standard for young men's morality. He could prejudice you 
against me, Kate. 

Kate (interrupting, ivith hand to heart). Wait! — Tell me of 
this moral standard in which you failed. Do you refer to money 
extravagance or — to — something else? (ivith effort.) 

Edw. (laughing harshly). You see, your forgiveness does not 
go far. (Kate starts back from him turning aivay.) 

Kate (after pause). Yes, yes, I can forgive, but it is hard. 
(turning on him) It is cruel, I say. Why do men demand that of 
women which they cannot give themselves'* 

Edw. (submissively). I have been weak ; I can offer no excuses. 

Kate (ivith feeling). No; excuses are all too weak for such. 
(throws herself on bench at tree c. with face hidden in arms. Ed- 
ward kneels penitently beside her, taking her disengaged hand and 
caressing it.) 

Edw. My darling! I feared it would be so. Very well, I 



HADLEY. 121 

will go. Good bye, Kate, (remains kuceliiis^, holding her Jiand. 
Kate silent.) What is it to be? Shall I go and have my life 
ruined forever; or remain, and make you happy? {bitterly as 
Kate remains silent) I dare say you'll not miss me. Dudley 
Brant remains; you will have his love, {rising and speaking with 
vehemence). I hate that man. Since I have known him my 
life has all gone wrong. It is he who stands between us. It is 
he who is stealing my place in your heart, {kneeling and throiving 
arms about her ivhile speaking earnestly). Will-you let me stay 
Kate, darling? I wish to begin life over again. I cannot; I will 
not go away. With you I shall put the old life behind me ; with 
you I shall become a good man. 

Kate {sitting up suddenly and looking into his face). Can I 
trust you when you say that? 

Edw. Try me, Kate. 

Kate. And if you fail. 

Edw. I cannot fail with you. 

Kate. You have nothing else to confess? 

Edw. Nothing. 

Kate {rises and comes thoughtfully doivn r., standing within a 
few feet of Dudley. Dudley has made no attempt to conceal him- 
self during the foregoing scene, but stands a stern, silent listener. In 
shadows he is unnotdced by either. Kate turns to Edward.) I 
have always dreamed of marrying a noble man. A man who^ 
throtjghout his life was faithful to me, even as I have been 
faithful to him. You are not that man, Edward Kingsley. 

Edw. {witJi downbent head). I have said I am unworthy. 

Kate. The Edward Kingsley I knew years ago was brave 
and ardent; anxious to battle with the world; to meet and over- 
come it honestly. I trusted; I waited for that man; though 
people scorned my trust and waiting. 

Edw. Would to God I had married you then; my life would 
have been lived somewhat differently. 

Kate {drearily). We must sacrifice many ideals in life. 
Edward, I have your promise; you have my trust for the future; 
my happiness is in your keeping. 

Edw. {eagerly). You will marry me, Kate? 

Kate. Yes. 

Edw. {folding her in his arms). My darling, — my Kate! 

Kate. Come, the carriage is waiting. (Edward and Kate are 
moving slowly toward l. 2 e., when Dudley crosses l. quickly- 
standing before them.) 

Dud. {with quiet emphasis). Wait! (Edward and Kate 
start back in astonishment). 

Kate {clinging to Edward's arm). Dudley Brant! 



122 HADLEY. 

Dud. I have been listening. I have no excuses to offer. I 
have merely this to say: That man at your side has lied to you. 
(Kate and Edward look at Dudley iciiJi fn'gliioicd faces. ]VitJi 
cold dctcKDii nation) I have this to say also: that man whom you 
wish to marry is a thief. He did not make that confession. 

Kate {starting aicay from Edward indignantly). Edward! 
Strike that man! He is insulting me as well as yourself. (Ed- 
ward remains quiet, nervously clenching his fists.) 

Dud. (defiantly). I am insulting a cur who has not the 
courage to resent it. See — he does not deny the accusation. 
He cannot! 

Edw. {looking at Dudley). I dare not — as vou well know. 
Tell her all. 

Kate {astounded). Edward! 

Dud. Within an hour I can place this fellow in the county 
jail. His crime is the embezzlement of certain sums of money 
four years ago. 

Kate. This is not so. 

Dud. Ask him. 

Kate {looki)ig at Edward). Edward! 

Edw. {humbly). It is the truth. You now understand his 
power over me. 

Kate {niitrmuring iiwredulously). A thief, — Edward, a thief ! 

Dud. {li'ith shade of triumph in his voice). Do you still wish 
to marry this man? 

Edw. I'll go away, Kate— 

Kate {going quickly to Edward). No! {to Dudley). He has 
my promise; my love. Though he be the lowest blackguard, 
I'll not forsake him now. 

Dud. {starti)ig back). Be careful, be careful Kate; you know 
not what you do. 

Kate {looking at Dudley). I love him. 

Dud. Four years ago he was my trusted secretary; in business 
my secrets were his own; I raised him socially; a career aw^aited 
him — I meanwhile watching his progress with a father's interest. 
How did he reward that interest? He defrauded me, taking 
large sums of money trusted to his keeping. Such is that man's 
gratitude. 

Kate. Nevertheless, I love him. 

Dud. {with anger). He is a spendthrift, as he himself has 
confessed. A selfish nature his, and mercenary. He loves 
your property more than yourself. 

Kate {defiantly). I love him! 

Dud. He is a profligate. Though young in years he is old 
in vice. Two women in that distant citv curse his name. 



HADIvEY. 123 

Kate. I love him. 

Dud. (luadly). You will not sacrifice yourself to such a man 
as this? 

Kate (with vehemence). I love him! Yes, Dudley Brant. 

Dud. (losing patience). Fool — fool! You are unworthy of 
an honest man's regard, (turns away, leaning against tree c. with 
hand pressed agai}ist forehead.) 

Kate, (tearing herself free from Edward's embrace). Listen, 
Edward Kingsley. There is yet one chance to absolve yourelf 
with me — to prove that one, at least, of this man's insults is a lie. 
He says your love is mercenary. Were that true, 1 would despise 
you — my love would fall stone dead all in an instant. However 
.1 have the test. 

Edw. What do you mean? 

Kate (ivatching his face closely). Edward Kingsley, this farm, 
this property, is mine no longer. Its owner we thought dead 
for many years. That man, that son of Mrs. Berwyn, has re- 
turned, and all, by law, belongs to him. Will you marry me 
now, half beggar that I am? Will you prove his falsehood and 
your love? 

Edw. (grasping her roitghly by tlie wrists). Kate ! Is this true ? 

Kate. Yes. (trying to disengage hands). You are hurting 
nie. 

Edw. (pusJiing her from Jiim). You deceived me, then! 

Kate (in amazement). Deceived you? 

Edw. Curses upon it all! — No! I'll not marry you! 

Kate (with agony of emotioji ajid indignation). Edward! 

Edw. (looking off l. 3 e.) What's that? Lights! People 
coming! (to Kate who has approached him) Away, I say! (to 
Dudley while looking fearfully over shoulder to l. 3 e.). What 
is it — the sheriff? 

Kate (laughing hysterically). My God! Dudley is right — 
Dudley is right! (sinks into seat at tree, l. 1 e., where she sits ivatch- 
ing Edward ivith face expressive of great self control over terrible 
internal agony.) 

Edw. (shaking Dudley's shoulder). Is it the sheriff? Is it 
the sheriff? Tell me, Dudley Brant, tell me! (Dudley does not 
heed). I'll leave this cursed place — I'll go away — I won't trouble 
you again, (glancing fearfully toward l. 3 e.) But I won't be 
taken — I won't be taken! (turns and exits swiftly r. 2 e., looking 
back over shoulder with frightened face.) 

(Enter l. 3 e. a crowd of excited country people headed by 
Western Billy. Harvey and Elmer carry lanterns. Sue and 
Jane, Tilly and Cal^eb Bummell among crowd. Not seeing 
Kate and Dudley, they clamor against house at l. c. b.) 



124 HADLEY. 

Billy (in husky, drunken tones, calling tip at window). Kate! 
Kate ! 

Caleb. Want's to run away with Kate, does he? 

Elm. We'll settle him. {voices in crowd "Aye— aye! We'll 
settle him!" Hum and noise of people speaking earnestly and 
pointing up at house.) • 

Anne {appearing in doorway- l. c. b.). Well, land's sakes 
alive, what's all this! 

Billy {roughly). Where's Kate? {crowd niurntttrs "Aye — 
Where's Miss Kate.") 

Anne (indignantly). Well, that's not any of your business; is 
it? Go home, the whole pack of you! It's time honest people 
were abed. Western Billy, don't come with those boots on this 
step; I scrubbed it before sundown. 

Billy {hoarsely). I want ter see Kate! 

Har. {pointing to where Y^xt'e sits near i.. 1 e.). There she is, 
Biily. {all turn and crowd, curiously as Billy comes down c.) 

Billy {to Kate). So, there you are? 

Kate {rising and supporting herself with one hand against 
tree trunk). Well? 

Billy. I heerd you wuz gettin' married; I heerd you wuz 
goin' oflf with thet city chap. 

Kate. Why did you bring these people here? 

Billy. I knew it wuzn't true: I said it wuzn't true when I 
heerd it. Gals ain't throwing awa}'' chances to marry a man 
with property. Gals like you air too level-headed. 

Kate {coldly). I don't understand you. 

Billy. Yes, yer do, Kate: yer know thet to keep Berwyn, 
yer must marry me. 

Kate {scornfully). Leave this place, immediately! 

Billy {astounded). Leave ther place! Now, look 'yer, Kate; 
none of yer domineering over me. We ain't married yet, and 
mebbe we won't be. 

Kate {sternly). Shall I call the farm hands and have you 
taken from here by force? Your presence — your proposals are 
insults! 

Billy {furiously). Insults! Put out by force? Who's 
goin' to do it? I'd riddle him full of holes. {cJuingiug manner and 
becoming suddenly submissive). I don't want ter fight with yer, 
gal. Come, tell me yer'll marry me, and I'll leave this instant. 
I'll go to please yer, Kate. 

Kate {with scorn). Marry you? I would rather marry the 
meanest beggar coming to this door! You are a drunkard, a 
coward, a fool, moreover, to think I would stoop to you. I 
despise you and order you to leave this place ! 



HADLEY. 125 

Billy {wild with rage). Despise me, do yer? All right, mv 
beauty! You didn't despise my farm on which you've lived 
these five years. Yer didn't despise thet. You put me out 
of Berwyn? Why, yer can't! The farm's mine — mine by 
law, and curse me ef I leave it till I'm ready, (throivs himself in 
tree seat at c. reclining ivith boots perched up over arm.) 

Anne (interrupting). Now, look yere, you big bully! Don't 
talk to Kate like thet or I'll put you out myself. I managed 
my Silas in his time and I think I kin manage you. 

Billy (roughly). Get out of the way, old woman! 

Anne (indignantly). Old woman? Jest wait till I get my 
broom: I'll Western Billy you! (exit hastilyup steps of house l.c.b.) 

Billy. Naw — Kate, we'll stow thet kind of talk. Ef there's 
any putting out of Berwyn to be done, why I'm the one to do 
it; see? Not a charity child, like you. 

Kate. Is there no man here to defend me from these insults? 
(Dudley ivalks quickly up to Billy, pushing his boots from their 
elevation to the ground and, collaring him, sends him ivith quick 
jerk spinning against tree at r. 2 e.). 

Dud. You scoundrel! Get on your knees and beg Miss 
Berwyn's pardon! 

Billy (furiously). On my knees? Western Billy on his 
knees? Yer want her yerself! (springing at Dudley) I know 
yer game! (Dudley strikes him as he rushes forward, and Billy 
staggers backzvard; madly recovering himself) What! I'll kill yer 
fer thet! (draws a knife and circles toward Dudley for an opening. 
Women in crowd scream as Billy approaches Dudley, when 
Anne suddenly runs down steps l. c. b., broom in hand, and see- 
ing Dudley's danger, thrusts broom between Billy's legs. Billy 
trips, and Dudley seizing him by throat, wrenches knife from his 
hand; knife flies across stage.) 

Dud. (fairly dragging Billy to Kate's feet). Beg her pardon! 
Beg her pardon, you dog, or I'll throttle you! 

Billy (gasping). Pardon,— (Dudley releases him. He stag- 
gers to his feet, pulling at his collar). Thet — thet — was — insult, 
Mr. Dudley Brant. Yer got to fight me fer thet ! 

Dud. (quietly). Very well. 

Billy. You'll meet me at Hadley Falls to-morrow morning. 
You'll meet me, or by God, I'll shoot yer in the street! I'll do it! 

Kate (in loiv voice, at Dudley's elbow). Dudley, you must 
not think of this. 

Billy. Ef he ain't a coward he will, or — 

Dud. (to Billy in quiet voice). At six to-morrow morning! 
{people whisper among themselves, eyeing Dudley and Billy 
with interest.) 



126 HADLEY. 

Billy (recovering his boastful self-posscssiou). Very well, 
Mr. Dudley Brant. I'll advise yer to take something to keep 
yer courage up. Yer may hev heard thet I wuz a dead shot 
out thar in Arizona: and I'll kill yer — I'll kill yer as sure as my 
name's Western Billy. At Hadley Falls to-morrer morning. 
{exit L. 3 E. People look after him in aice-stntck manner. Elmer 
ivhispers and nudges Harvey, and both exit after Billy.) 

Kate {speakitig K'itli low voice, and laying hand on Dudley's 
arm). Dudley, your hand is bleeding! 

CURTAIN. 

Note. — For curtain call, tableau of people ga::ing after Billy; 
a few looking curiously at Dudley. Kate baiidagi)ig Dudley's 
hand with handkerchief. 



HADI.EY. 127 



ACT IV. 

SCENE. — Dudley Brant's Library. Comjortahly jurnished 
room; double doors at c. b. n'ith bolts; broad casement at l. c. 
with windoiv seat in alcove and movable curtains betiveen iviiidoiu 
and room. Blue Room at r. c. b.; a small blue painted chamber 
visible through doorway, ivith heavy movable door, in ivhich may 
be seen a roll top desk, desk chair and safe. Book cases with 
books in corners of walls of room; table with chairs at r. c. ; small 
table near l. 1 e. ; small cabinet hanging beside door of Blue Koom, 
(Enter Dr. Peabody hastily at c. and crosses toivards r. 2 e.) 

Dr. p. (callijig). Polly, Polly! Where are you? 

(Enter Polly at r 2 e.) 

Polly. Here I am. (ruslics to Dr. Peabody, Iiiding her face on 
his shoulder.) Don't tell me a word about it, Dr. Peabody. 

Dr. p. (surprised). Not tell you? Why, Polly! 

Polly. I'm afraid. Was he killed? Were they both killed? 
(placing fitigers on Doctor's lips). But don't tell me, — don't 
you dare to tell me. 

Dr. p. (somewhat piqued). I came to tell you we could get 
married. 

Polly. I don't want to get married. (Doctor starts azvay 
from her). I don't want to get anything. I only want dear, 
dear Mr. Dudley to come home again. 

Dr. p. (jealously.) Well, you seem mightily concerned about 
him ! 

Polly. Of course I do. And so would you, if you lived in 
this house and knew what a dear, kind gentleman he is. He 
left at five o'clock this morning to meet that horrid Western Billy, 
and we have not seen nor heard from him since. Do you suppose 
he really fought a duel. Dr. Peabody? 

Dr. p. Of course not; I credit Dudley with having more 
sense. 

Polly (anxiously). But suppose they fought, and suppose 
Mr. Dudley is killed? Oh, suppose Mr. Dudley is killed, Dr. 
Peabody 1 

Dr. p. Nonsense ! Don't suppose anything of the sort, Polly. 
That meeting with Billy was to take place at six, and you say 
Dudley left the house at five. Take my word for it, he went 



128 HADLEY. 

first for the sheriff to put Mr. Western Billy in charge. Dudley 
spent the rest of the day at Hummington, thirty miles from 
here, where he had business to attend to. He spoke of going 
there, yesterday. 

Polly {more calmly). Do you think so, Dr. Peabody? Do 
you think he had Western Billy arrested? 

Dr. p. I am sure of it. You don't suppose that a law- 
abiding old fellow like Dudley would fight a duel, do you? 
I doubt if he knows one end of a pistol from another. Certainly 
he does not know how to discharge one. 

Polly, (quickly). Now, don't talk in that manner about Mr. 
Dudley, {with cDiphasis). He is the dearest, best man in Hadley, 
and not a bit old. {shaki}ig head n^ith dctcr)iii)iatio)i). 

Dr. p. (jealously). Oh, he is the "dearest, best nian in 
Hadley," is he? 

Polly (shaking finger at Doctor). Now, Dr. Peabody, you 
are jealous. 

Dr. p. (turning aivay). I am not, Polly — no such thing. 

Polly (crosses to him). You are; I can see it in your face. 
Come, sir, confess. 

Dr p. I shall do nothing of the kind, Polly. 

Polly ([^leading). Do confess it. Dr. Peabody. I like it; 
I want you to be jealous. Indeed I do. 

Dr. p. Then 1 shall not humor you, Polly. 

Polly. Confess and you may have — 

Dr. p. (as she hesitates). What? 

Polly (looking up at him). Something you like best. 

Dr. p. I confess — I am jealous of my Polly. Now, what am 
I to have? 

Polly (elevati)ig lips invitingly). Guess! 

Dr. p. (kissing^ her). There^; is that it? 

Polly (contentedly). What a mind-reader you are, Dr. Pea- 
body. (releasing herself from his embrace). Now, what were we 
talking about? Oh, yes; about Mr. Dudley. They say he was 
awfully fierce at Berwyn last evening. 

Dr. p. I heard of that. I declare it is disgraceful. I don't 
know what has come over the man. 

Polly ()uxldi}ig head positively). I do. Dr. Peabody. 

Dr. p. You do? What is it? (Polly whispers to Doctor, 
ni'ho starts hack ivith surprise). No! What; with Kate? (Polly 
luxls her head) Why, Dudley is too old. I'll give him a talking to. 

Polly (glancing toieard doorway c). Hush, here is Kate now. 
She has come every hour this day to inquire after him. (signifi- 
cantly). Think of that. Dr. Peabody! 

(Enter Kate at c. Conu^s doioi to Polly c7/ l. c. anxiously). 



HADLEY. 129 

Kate (to Polly). Has he returned? 

Polly. Not yet, Kate. 

Kate. I am so concerned for him. He was so noble, so brave 
in my defense. I did not deserve it, Polly; I insulted him 
yesterday. 

Polly (in f^ric^'cd tone). Kate! 

Kate (as she and Polly scat themselves at l. c). Yes; I in- 
sulted Dudley, — the man who defended me; the man 1 am in- 
debted to for so many favors. 

Polly. Don't worry, dear. Dr. Peabody, thinks he went to 
Hummington; he spoke of going there to-day. 

Kate. But would he not tell you, Polly? 

Polly. I did not see him. Just think; I never knew of that 
dreadful duel till after he left the house this morning. He for- 
bade Aunty Sue telling me. 

Kate. It is like him; he is as thoughtful as he is brave and 
generous. 

Dr. p. (icJio has been lookiih^ jroDi ivindoiv, l. c. Comiuii doivn). 
Now, Kate; don't worry about Dudley. Positively I'm ashamed 
of the man. It was bad enough to pick a quarrel in your pres- 
ence, but — 

Kate (risinfi; and interrupting him with dignity). Understand, 
Dr. Peabody, that Mr. Brant picked no quarrel in my presence. 
I was insulted and he defended me — defended me, moreover, 
in a manner few men would have the courage to adopt, (goes 
tip stage.) 

Dr. p. (turning au'ay r., aside). So, so; the wind blows that 
way; does it? Mayhap Polly's theory is correct after all? 

Polly (as Kate moves toivard c. door). You are not going 
Kate ? 

Kate (tur)iing). I must. We are very busy at the farm. 
To-morrow or the day following, we leave. 

Polly (passing her arm about Kate's ivaist, consoling her). 
What will we ever do without you? Mr Dudley will miss you, 
Kate. He so enjoyed those walks you had. 

Kate (stifling emotion). Perhaps, perhaps, (/c Dr. Peabody.) 
I am much concerned for Dudley's safety. Will you bring me 
any news you may receive of him ? Will you bring it immediately ? 

Dr. p. Why, certainly. 

Kate. Thank you, thank you. (Kate is moving off toward 
c. D. once more, ivhen Polly, zvho has been looking from window 
l. c, checks her.) 

Polly, Wait, Kate; Aunty Sue is coming up the path. Per- 
haps she knows something. 

(Enter Sue Perkins primly and coldly at c.) 



I^O HADLEY. 

Polly. Any news, Aunty Sue' 

Sue {after stariiii::^ coldly at Kate). Not a word. Western 
Billy. Harvey and Elmer returned three hours ago. and nobody 
can get a syllable out of them. (s,M::;;/i: coldly at Dr. P.) It is my 
belief they have murdered Dudley Brant and made away with 
his remains. 

Polly {clasf>iui:^ Jiaiuh iu terror). Oh, Aunty Sue! 

Dr. p. {ill disgusted to)ic). Your sunnises are so consoling, 
Miss Perkins. 

Sue {icily). Doesn't it look like it. Dr. Peabody? 

Dr. p. No, it does not. Come, Polly; your aunt shall not 
frighten you. {opctis his arms to Polly, icho seeks their frotectioii. 
To Sue). I know that Dudley spent the day at Hummington. 
He told me yesterday of that intention. 

Sue {leith cold sJiarpiiess). As he did not tell me, I shall take 
the libertv of disbelieving you. Is it true that you are appointed 
railroad physician ? 

Dr. p. it is the truth. Miss Perkins. 

Polly {lookiitg /</> quickly in astoiiishnioit). "Why, Dr. Pea- 
body, vou never told me a word about it! 

Sue. I can well understand that, Polly. His sudden pros- 
peritv has probably turned his head. Perhaps he is already 
thinking of marrying some one else. 

Dr. p. (/jo/c/n/.c Polly tigJitly in his anus; to Sue iiuliiiuatttly). 
Miss Perkins ! {to Polly) My darling, you did not give me a chance 
You had so much to say about Dudley. 

Polly {elingiiii; to hint). I'm so glad. Dr. Peabody; I'm 
so glad! 

Sue {rci^arditti:, tJieni coldly). So you arc' going to marry her? 

Dr. p. {firndy). I am. Miss Perkins. 

Sue.- Well. I am sorry for both of you. (t^tv.^ up to c. doorway, 
ichile Polly and Doctor i^laiice indii^naiitly after her. Looking 
off l). Here is that everlasting Jane Holly! I wish people would 
leave me alone this evening. 

{Enter Jane Holly at c.) 

Jane, {xeriiiging her liands and crying Iialf nc'vously). Sue; 
hev you heard anything from dear, dear Mr. Dudley? Thet 
wretch of a Western Billy is swaggering around Hadley drinking 
whiskev, and Dudley — maybe Dudley has taken his place 
among the angels. I always said he was an angelic man; he 
was so kind to us all; never cross, like you, Sue. 

Sue {interrupti)tg s)iappishly). Stop making a fool of yourself, 
Jane HoUv! Dudley is not going to marry you, is he? 

Jane {still leJtimpering). Well, not thet I know of. Sue, 
though the Lord knows, I'd sacrifice myself for Mr. Dudley. 



HADMCV. 131 

Sue. Yes; and for any oIIkm- man, I'm Ihinkinir. 

Jane. I hevn't thousj;lit of marriage for twcntv years — now. 

Sue {intcrruptiui:^). Hevn't thought of anything else, you mean. 

Jane (fanniui!^ violently). Sue Perkins! 

Sue {snappishly). Sit down, and keep fiuict. I'm tirccl to 
death of company, {glances significantly towanis Kaii:.) 

Jane {primly). Oh, very well; if my ])resence ain't congenial, 
I won't infringe, {goes up to c. door. Suddenly changes voice and 
vumner on looking off l.) Sue! Kf here ain't Caleb Iknnmcl and 
Tilly walking arm in arm and looking as unconcerned as c-f 
they were Adam and Eve, and Hadley wuz a small sized Paradise. 

{Enter Caleb Bummell and Tilly Emmons arm in arm at c.) 

Caleb {to Tilly). Tilly, a man as is forty-four around the 
chest is a man worth having. And don't let nobody convince 
you to the contrary. 

Tilly. Hush, Caleb; {sivectly to company) How do. Sue; how 
do, Jane and Polly — ami the Doctor. And I do declare, there's 
Kate; well, I do declare. 

Sue. Now, what did you come for, Caleb Ikimmell? 

Caleb. Why, Sue; we thought we'd just drop in and see if 
Dudley got back. Now, ef Dudley takes my advice about 
Western Billy — 

Sue {interrupting sharply). Dudley don't need your advice, 
Caleb Bummell. 

Caleb. Well, I'm not saying thet he does, Sue; but it won't 
hurt him to hev it, nevertheless. Advice is sometimes good and 
it don't cost nothin'. 

Sue {sharply and with emphasis). Is thet the reason you're 
giving it away, Caleb Bummell? 

Caleb {recovering). Well; ef Dudley Brant would take my 
advice about his housekeeper — 

Sue {ivith temper). You can't influence Dudley against me, 
Caleb Bummell. Matters have gone too far. 

Caleb {deliherately). Thet's jest what I'm thinkin — matters 
hev gone too far and much further. Ef Dudley Brant knew the 
gossip spread about him by two unscrupulous, long-tongued, 
fabricating, unprincipled, {ivith emphasis) old tvomen of this com- 
munity, why he — he — {nods head vigorously). 

Sue {as Caleb hesitates). Go on, Caleb Bummell,— go on! 

Jane {primly). Hush Sue — he isn't referring to us. {with 
dignity). We are not old. 

Dr. p. {laughing). Come, Caleb, don't quarrel with the 
ladies. Let us hear your advice about Billy. 

Caleb {nodding his head sagely to Sue atui Jane). He would 
take his measures accordingly, {turning to Dr. Peabody). My 



132 HADLEY. 

advice about Western Billy is, jail him! Jail him good and tight, 
and the sooner the better. 

Sue {spitefully to Caleb). I'll tell Western Billy what you 
think of him. 

Caleb {with symptoms of uneasiness). Well, now — you hed 
better not Sue. He is a dangerous man and there might be 
trouble if we two came together, {in conciliatory tone) So you 
hevn't heard from Dudley? 

Sue {crossly). No, I hevn't. 

Tilly {softly). Why, what's the matter, Sue? Ain't you 
feeling well to-day; you seem extra cross this evening? 

Sue. I'm tired, and besides, I'm worried about Dudley: and 
here I've got to be bothered with a room-full of company. 
{glances spitefully at Kate). Dudley won't like it when he 
comes home. 

Kate. I am going now, Polly. 

Polly {rising and quickly going up to Kate). Don't go Kate. 
{looking from c. door off l. excitedly) Look, look! Here comes 
Elmer! {all crowd to door.) 

Tilly. My, don't he run! 

Caleb. He must know something. 

Dr. p. {in doorway). Come in, Elmer; come in! 

{Enter Elmer at c. from off l. b. Sinks breathlessly in chair 
which Caleb places for him c. All crowd about chair.) 

Kate {anxiously). What is it, Elmer? 

Elmer {breathlessly). Gorsch! I came near forgetting! 

Sue. Forgetting what? 

Polly. Quick — oh, do speak! 

Kate. Have you news of Dudley? 

Elmer {panting). Yes! 

Polly. What is it? What is it? 

Elmer. He said to tell you that he was all right. 

Sue {pouncing iipon and shaking Elmer). Wretch, why 
didn't you tell us that three hours ago? 

Elmer. I forgot it; {helplessly) Stop! — Take her' away! (Dr. 
Peabody interferes betiveen Sue and Elmer) Besides, 'twas Billy 
who kep' me. He's getting drunk — 

Kate {interrupting). What did Dudley say? 

Elmer. He said to tell Miss Perkins — 

Sue {interrupting and clasping her hands sentimentally). Ah, 
he remembered me — he sent his first message to me! Dear, 
dearest Dudley! 

Elmer {with emphasis). He said to tell Miss Perkins and 
Polly that he wasn't hurt, and would spend the day in Humming- 
ton, where he had business to attend to. 



HADLEY. 133 

Dr. p. {triumphantly to Polly and Kate). Now then; what 
did I tell you! 

Elmer {apologetically). I forgot it, 'cause of Billy. 

Caleb. But the fight, Elmer; tell us of the fight. 

Elmer {scratching head). I'd like to, but I dassn't, 'cause 
Mr. Dudley asked me not to. {reflectively). Gorsch, it was awful ! 

Kate {anxiously). Was anybody hurt? 

Elmer {vehemently). You bet! 

Sue. Who? Dudley? 

Elm. No— Billy! 

Jane {turning away and raising her hands sentimentally). Thank 
heaven! Thank heaven! 

Dr. p. {excitedly). You don't mean to say that Dudley shot 
the fellow? 

Elm. Naw! There weren't no shootin'! Mr. Dudley wol- 
loped him — wolloped him until Billy — {interrupting himself 
conscientiously). But there — I'm telling yer all about it. 

Polly {clapping hands). Oh, goody, goody! 

Dr. p. Let us hear the story, Elmer. 

Elm. {scratching head). You won't tell Mr. Dudley I told? 

Caleb. Not a word. 

Elm. {slowly). Well, then — you see Harvey and I wuz at 
Berwyn last night and we thought there 'd be fun at the Falls 
this mornin'. Not thet we feared any shootin'; cause we knew 
Billy would be sober. Billy drunk, is dangerous — riptail, 
roaring, dangerous; but Billy sober — gorsch, he wouldn't hev 
the nerve to chase an old cow. So we put Billy to bed and made 
things sure by smashing every whiskey bottle on the place. 
After that, we went to bed, too, feelin' quite safe and peaceable. 

Caleb, {as Elmer pauses). G'long Elmer — g'long! 

Elm. {eyeing Caleb unfavorably). G'long yerself, Caleb Bum- 
mell, and give a feller time to ketch his breath. 

Polly {ivith hand on Elmer's shoulder). Go ahead, Elmer, dear. 

Elm. Well, then; when we roused Billy at five, he first looked 
for his bottle, and then rushed out for "an eye-opener " as he calls 
it. But ez we had tipped the bartender, he didn't get it, and 
thet made him mad. Billy threatened to lick the man and 
us, too, but he wuz sober then, you see, or nearly so, and didn't 
dare to try it. He didn't even ask for his gun, but told Harvey 
and me to come 'long to the Falls. Billy said he would bluff an 
apology to Dudley Brant there and shoot him in Hadley later. 
{looking up seriously). Indeed Mr. Dudley hed better look out — 
he might try it. 

Dr. p. {interrupting). Nonsense, Elmer — you will frighten 
the ladies. 



134 HADLEY. 

Sue. What happened next? 

Elm. Well, we reached the Falls, and there stood Mr. Dudley, 
straight and stiff with thet little cane tucked under his arm. 
He looked awful stern, and talked quite abrupt-like. "Billy," 
sez he, "did yer come to fight?" "No," says Billy, "I didn't." 
"I thought not," says Mr. Dudley, and he turned to go away. 
Now thet made Billy brave, and he yells, "I come to tell yer 
what a — " (apologetically) Well, he said a few things which he 
oughtn't to. But hearing thet, Mr. Dudley turned and col- 
lared him, and the next moment was using thet cane in a way 
thet made things hum. And Billy just danced and yelled, and 
only broke away by jumping inter the creek, where he went 
swimming and swearing away as though the dev — as though 
Mr. Dudley wuz after him — which he wuz. 

Dr. p. Well, that is the most remarkable thing I ever heard 
of in this community. 

Kate (to Elmer, ivho rises from chair). What is William 
Berwyn doing now? 

Elm. He's getting drunk, Miss Kate. — He' wild agin Mr. 
Dudley, and swears — 

Dr. p. (iuternipting). Nevermind, Elmer; we will take care 
of Billy. 

Elm. Me and Harvey hev tried to do thet, and its the tough- 
est job we've struck yet. I told Harvey I wouldn't stay, so I'll 
be right off again, (goes up c. pausing in doorway). Oh, I came 
near forgettiii'. Mr. Dudley said he might stay over night at 
Hummington. Good bye, everybody, (exit Elmer off c. and 
L. Room grows darker, twilight ivithout.) 

Caleb (gazingajter^'Lyi'E'R.). Well, thet boy would forget his head 
ef it wasn't on tight. Come along, Tilly, we've staid long enough. 

Tilly (going tip c). Are you going over, Jane? 

Caleb (aside). Hist, Tilly! 

Tilly (to Caleb). Why not, Caleb? 

Jane. I ivill go along. These Hadley roads are fearful 
lonesome, and there's no telling what might happen with Western 
Billys about. At such moments we females feel the need of a 
protecting arm, eh, Tilly? 

Tilly. They do come in handy, thet's a fact. 

Caleb (approvingly). Thet's right, Tilly; every woman 
should hev an escort and if she keeps him through life, so 
much the better, (pompously) Now you ladies needn't be afraid, 
for with a man along measuring forty-four round the chest, why — 

Sue (interrupting sharply). Good night. Take care of Caleb, 
Tilly and Jane, (exit at r. 2 e. slamming door after her.) 

Caleb (shaking fist after Sue). Thet woman — thet woman. 



HADLEY. 



135 



(abruptly) Come along, Tilly, (grasps Tilly's arm and hastily 
exits at c. off l.) 

Jane (in c. doorway, gazing indignantly off l.) Well, they 
seem to hev forgotten me. But Caleb has another arm, and 
thet arm I mean to hev. So now! (marches determinedly off l. 
Room in dull tivilight). 

Polly. How dark it has become. I will bring the lamp. 
(exit R. 2 E.) 

Kate (anxiously). Dr. Peabody, I fear for Dudley's safety. 

Dr. p. Nonsense, Kate. 

Kate. I know the revengeful spirit of this man. William 
Berwyn is as proud as he is treacherous, and will resent those 
blows. I hope Dudley will not return to-night, (goes tip to 
window l. c. and glances out into darkness.) 

Dr. p. Now, Kate, you alarm yourself with idle fears. The 
fellow received a lesson this morning. Take my word for it, 
he will leave Dudley alone hereafter. 

Kate. I have a strange nature, Doctor; an instinct warns me 
when danger threatens. I felt that warning the day William 
Berwyn returned; I feel it now. 

Dr. p. (as Polly re-enters r. 2 e. with lighted lamp which she 
places on table -r. c. (Lights up). Hush; you will frighten Polly. 

Kate (suddenly). Dr. Peabody, if Dudley should come to- 
night, tell him — tell him to be careful, for my sake. You will 
do this? (looks earnestly up into Doctor's face.) 

Dr. p. Certainly, Kate; but he will not return to-night. 

Kate. Thank you; thank you. (exit hastily at c. and off l.) 

Polly (going closely to Dr. Peabody). Does Kate fear for 
Dudley? 

Dr. p. (passing arm about Polly). Yes, but they are foolish 
fears. 

(Enter Dudley r. 1 e. dressed in riding suit.) 

T)R. P. Why, here is the man himself! 

Polly, (running to Dudley with cry of surprise and delight). 
Mr. Dudley, (hides her face in hands against his shoulder.) 

Dud. (stroking Polly's hair). Why. Polly, what is this? 
Elmer delivered my message; did he not? 

Dr. p. He delivered it ten minutes ago. 

Dud. The rascal! No wonder you worried. However, I'm 
alive and well — 

Dr. p. Whereas Kate and Polly were fully prepared to 
mourn your loss. 

Dud. (quickly). Was Kate here! 

Polly. A dozen times this day. She was so anxious about 
you, Mr. Dudley. 



136 HADI.EY. 

Dud. {iJioiigJitfiiUy). Is it so? (titr)is aicay ))iustngly, then 
iti jocidar voice). Peabody, I would not lose that cane for twenty 
dollars, (lays eatie on chair. To Polly icJio Jiovers aiixioiisly 
about hi)n). There. Polly. I'm entirely sound, as you can see. 
Now bring nie some supper. 

Polly. Indeed I will. ]\Ir. Dudley, (exit Polly r. 2 e. Dud- 
ley sits at table l. c. facing, audieiice. Doctor 5/75 near table. 
Re-enter Polly ivith tea, ^vhich she pours a)id places before Dudley.) 

Dr. p. My dear Dudley, you should have this fellow locked up. 

Dud. I shall, Peabody, on the least sign of further trouble. 
Polly, that's a good girl; set a place for the Doctor. 

Dr. p. No — I am going immediately. I would like to take 
Polly for a drive, if you can spare her. 

Dud. Polly, tell the Doctor whether I can spare you. 

Polly. Doctor Peabody, Mr. Dudley can spare Polly Brinton 
if you promise not to keep her more than one hour. 

Dud. (xi'ith assioned severity). Remember, Doctor — not more 
than one hour. If the young lady chooses to extend the time, 
that is another matter. 

Polly (catching Dudley aroutui neck a)id kissitig him). Oh, 
you dear ^Ir. Dudley! (suddenly) Dr. Peabody, have 3'ou told 
Mr. Dudley about your appointment? 

Dr. p. No, I actually forgot it! (about to rise) Dudley, con- 
gratulate me, I — 

Polly, (holding Doctor doivn in Jiis chair a)id putting Jiand 
over his mouth). I must tell, I must tell. Mr. Dudley, he has 
been appointed railroad physician on the P. & R. R. R. There 
now, what do you think of that? 

Dud (jumping itp and shaki)ig Doctor's ha)id). My dear 
Doctor — my sincerest congratulations ! Now, Polly, this is some- 
thing like. I prophesy a wedding in Hadley in the near future. 
I have in mind a handsome present for the bride. 

Polly. Don't tell me — don't vou dare to tell me what it is, 
Mr. Dudley. 

Dud. I won't. But Polly — I should like to have something 
for supper besides tea. I have taken considerable exercise to- 
day, and it is wonderful what an effect exercise has on the 
stomach. 

Polly. I am so happy that I forgot all about your supper. 
(exit l. 2. E. and re-eiiter leith tray containing supper. Polly 
sets table ichile Dudley and Dr. Peabody converse.) 

Dud. Now, Peabody, tell me all about it. 

Dr. p. Another time, Dudley — my affair can wait, but this 
one of yours may be pressing. Are you taking measures to 
protect yourself? This Westerner may prove dangerous. 



iiadi,p:v. 137 

Dud. My dear doctor, I took my measures this morning. 
Our friend from Arizona received a lesson that lie will not forget. 
Sugar, Polly. 

Dr. p. But suppose he comes again? 

Dud. He won't. 

Dr. p. I'm not so sure of that. Are you armed? 

Dud. I had forgotten that, (rises from chair and crosses to 
door of Blue Room at r. c. b. Takes revolver from back pocket and 
locks it in small cabinet hanging beside door of Blue Room.) Pea- 
l3ody; did you ever notice the strength and security of my Blue 
Room? It is small, and not very well illuminated, but it is the 
most secure apartment in the house. Here I keep my desk, 
my safe and few valuables. My cane belongs here. Polly, 
will you hand it to me? (Polly hands cane) Thank you. (Dud- 
ley exits in Blue Room.) 

Polly {in doorway, looking into Bhic Room). Not a window 
in the room: only that tall, narrow skylight. Nobody could 
get in there. 

Dud. {re-entering). Nor out, either. And here is one of the 
stoutest doors in Hadley. I defy anybody to pick the lock or 
break it down. I think my valuables are safe in the Blue 
Room, eh, Polly? 

Dr. p. But what on earth has the Blue Room to do with your 
safety? 

Dud. Nothing, whatever. I am merely speaking of the 
safety of my valuables. I wanted to change the subject; 
you understand, Peabody? I do not intend Polly to be fright- 
ened. I intend Polly to take the drive you promised her, and 
if you won 't have any supper, I would advise you to take her 
immediately, (seats himself at table l.) 

Dr. p. (rising). Very well; since you won't be warned — 

Dud. Enjoy your ride, Polly; and don't let the Doctor 
frighten you with ghost stories. 

Dr. p. (pausing before going up stage ivith Polly.) By-the-by, 
Kate was here just before you came in. Her message to you 
was: "Tell Dudley to be careful, for my sake." Au revoir, 
Dudley, (exit Doctor and Polly at c. off r. Qttite dark without. 
Dudley sits motionless on hearing Kate's name.) 

Dud. (meditatively). Kate! (continues eating. Stops). Kate 
was concerned for my safety, (smiles) I owe Mr. Western Billy a 
debt of gratitude for that, (musingly). Kate was concerned for 
my — (interrupting himself abruptly). Pshaw! I am a fool, (bit- 
terly) An old fool, at that — and what fool's so great as an old 
fool! (pause) What was her message? (repeats words slowly) "Tell 
Dudley to be careful for my sake." (dwelling fondly on words) 



138 HADLEY. 

"For her sake." (rising and going up c, standing in doorway 
looking off L.) There is Berwyn; its Hghts gHmmering faintly 
among the trees, (fondly). Kate is there! God bless Berwyn and 
all it shelters beneath its roof! (turns into room, speaking prac- 
tically) I cannot think there is danger. Still, that fellow used a 
weapon yesterday, (glances towards cabinet). Shall I put that re- 
volver in my pocket? (with siidden determination) No! (returns 
to table) I have always claimed that the man who carries arms 
in a peaceful community is somewhat of a coward, (eating). 
Dear, dear, how I shall miss Polly's omelets when she marries. 
(enter Sue Perkins at r. 2 e., primly. Sits on chair r. c. facing 
Dudley) Good evening, Miss Perkins, (continues eating) 

Sue (pause). Well; Polly is going to be married. 

Dud. I am sincerely glad to hear it. 

Sue. And what are you going to do about me, Mr. Dudley 
Brant? 

Dud. (looking up). About you. Miss Perkins? 

Sue. When Polly is married? 

Dud. Ah, yes; I have not thought of that. You can stay, 
of course. 

Sue. (rising, with dignity). Mr. Dudley Brant! 

Dud. I beg your pardon? 

Sue. When Polly goes, I go too — unless. — I can never stay 
under this roof as your housekeeper. 

Dud. I know of no Other position that you might hold on 
the premises, Miss Perkins. 

Sue. (changing her manner suddenly to exaggerated anxiety). 
Dudley, Dudley, were you harmed this morning? 

Dud! (quietly). Not in the least. 

Sue. I was so anxious for A^our safety. You didn't know 
that I got up when you did. 

Dud. I heard you drop a shoe on the floor overhead. I 
should have appreciated your anxiety had you come down and 
made my breakfast. 

Sue. Who could think of breakfast at such a moment? 

Dud. My stomach was thinking very seriously of it. 

Sue. You didn't know that I watched you ride away; you 
didn't know that — I breathed a little prayer for you, Dudley? 

Dud. (aside, smiling). That prayer must have done for 
Billy! (aloud) I am obliged to you. Miss Perkins. 

Sue. Had you been brought home wounded — Oh, I was 
wishing you had been wounded, that I might show my devotion 
for you! 

Dud. Thank you; under the circumstances you will allow 
me to say that I would rather not have your devotion. 



HADLEY. 139 

Sue. I would have nursed your wounded limb — 

Dud (ivith tivinkling eye). Ah, you wanted him to shoot me 
in the limb, did you? 

Sue. You would then appreciate — 

Dud {abruptly). Another cup of tea, if you please. Polly 
makes it; does she not? 

Sue. {handing him cup). I was saying — 

Dud. You were nursing my wounded limb. Sugar, please. 
(Sue hands sugar.) Thank you, I beg your pardon for interrupting. 

Sue {at c, extending one finger solemnly). Dudley Brant; you 
have arrived at a crisis in your career, {with emphasis) You have 
to get married. 

Dud {ivith smile of comical alarm). Good gracious, — do you 
really think so. Miss Perkins? 

Sue. I know it. After Polly's marriage, you won't be able 
to keep a woman in this house. (Dud. pauses in sugaring his tea) 
So the question is ' ' Who are you going to marry ? ' ' 

Dud. {complacently). Ah, that is the question! 

Sue. You want a woman with a heart, Dudley Brant. 

Dud. I shall insist upon a heart. 

Sue. And a head. 

Dud. And a head, ditto. 

Sue. You want a woman of education, of refinement. One 
who is accustomed to your eccentricities. (Dudley looks up 
quickly, then drinks).' You are becoming absent minded, Dud- 
ley Brant. You want a woman who will comfort you in your 
old age. (Dudley chokes in his cup.) 

Dud. {slapping table). Now, Miss Perkins, I am not decrepit, 
and will not be for some years to come. When I marry, I don't 
want a nurse, {rises from table and crosses irately to Blue Room, 
R. c. B. ; strikes match in doorway to light lamp ivithin.) 

Sue. There is a report in the village, Dudley. 

Dud. {standing in doorway of Blue Room with lighted match in 
hand). I don't care how many reports there are in the village. 

Sue. There is a report in the village that you and I — {hesi- 
tates). 

Dud. {facing her sternly). Well, Miss Perkins? 

Sue {with hesitation). People are saying that you and I are 
engaged — to be married — 

Dud. {vehemently casting down match ivhich has burnt his 
fingers). ■ Confound it. Miss Perkins! 

Sue. At last! At last, I must submit to abusive language! 

Dud. {irately rubbing finger ends on trousers). I was referring 
to the match. Miss Perkins! 

Sue. I know which match you were referring to, Dudley Brant ! 



140 HADLEY. 

Dud. Miss Perkins, let us understand one another. Don't 
encourage such scandalous gossip; deny that — that falsehood 
wherever you meet it! 

Sue. Falsehood, indeed! You might do worse, Dudley 
Brant. 

Dud. I know it. But look here, Miss Perkins; if I catch 
any masculine specimen of Hadley circulating gossip of that 
nature, I shall treat him to a dose of my bamboo cane. Un- 
fortunately, one cannot administer to the women in that man- 
ner, (pointedly) although they are the ones who most deserve it. 
{Turns into Blue Room, lights lamp above desk at back and arranges 
papers on desk.) 

Sue (indignantly). The wretch! The wretch! To presume 
to tell me that he didn't wish to marry me! And they call him 
a gentleman. I'll go and tell Jane every insult he heaped upon 
me. (crosses and exits l. 2 e. Dudley, who is seated at desk in 
Blue Room turns in chair). 

Dud. Miss Perkins! (pause). Miss Perkins! (rises and 
comes down stage. Opens door l. 2 e. and looks off. Shuts door). 
I was wrong, just now: I lost my temper before a woman. I 
owe Miss Perkins an apology, (goes up c. door looking thou ghtftdly 
in direction of Benvyn). Do all women regard me as an old man? 
I wonder — I wonder, (walks thoughtfully into Blue Room, sits at 
■desk with back to audience and writes. Pause.) 

(Enter Kate at c.) 

music. 

Kate. I could not remain at Berwyn. A fear oppresses me: 
.a presentiment that Dudley is in danger. I wonder if he has 
returned? (crosses r. but suddenly draws back in front of Blue Room- 
door. Comes down hand to heart, still looking at Dudley.) 
Yes, he is there! I cannot speak to him — I dare not. Not 
after my insults of yesterday, (regarding Dudley lovingly). 
How strong he was in my defense ! How brave ! I must thank 
him for protecting me last evening. I must thank him for risk- 
ing himself for me this morning. Oh, I am indebted to him in a 
hundred ways. (going tip to c. door quickly and looking off l. 
■with strained attention). What is that? A figure running along 
the pike? It is Harvey, I think. Yes — 

(Enter Harvey, panting from long run and almost staggering 
into Kate's arms. Kate places her hands on his shoulders. In 
low voice). What is it Harvey? 

QUICK MUSIC. 

Har. (breathlessly). Mr. Dudley. I want to see Mr. Dudley! 

Kate (placing hand over his mouth). Hush! (crosses qtiickly 

and quietly to door of Blue Room, glancing in to see that Dudley 



HADLEY, 141- 

has not been disturbed. Closes door noiselessly and crosses tO' 
Harvey who is peering anxiously off l. from c. door). Now,, 
what is the matter? 

Har. (excitedly). For Heaven's sake, Miss Kate — there'll be 
murder! Billy is drunk again — raving, roaring drunk as I never 
saw him before, and he's got his gun this time. He swears- 
he'll shoot Mr. Dudley on sight, and he's coming up the pike on 
a run! 

Kate (with hands pressed to bosom). He is armed, you say? 

Har. Yes! Billy wasn't drunk this morning, and that's the 
reason Mr. Dudley wolloped him so easy. But he's wild now,, 
and when he's drunk he's brave. Mr. Dudley had better get out 
of the way. 

Kate, (pointing to door of Blue Room). Dudley is there.. 
(Harvey about to cross to Blue Room when Kate catches his sleeve) 
Wait, Harvey, he must not know. He is brave enough to- 
meet that man. (clasps hand to forehead and paces stage excitedly) 
What shall I do! There is danger now. 

Har. (at c. door, looking l.) Hurry, Miss Kate; — Billy is at 
the bridge. 

Kate (after glancing wildly from window to door of Blue Room).. 
I have it! (runs to Blue Room door and hastily turns key in 
lock, taking key. To Harvey) Run Harvey — run! Get help — 
the sheriff — anybody! Quick! (Harvey exits hastily at c. 0^ l. 
Kate closes and bolts doors at c. hastily; also casement at l. c. b; 
comes down L. c.) Is nobody in the house? (opens door l. 2 e.. 
calling anxiously) Sue! Polly! (crosses right, opens doors, 
calling,) Polly! Sue! CDvdlby is heard moving in Blue Room.) 

DvD. (within Blue Room). Why, who locked this door! (tJiud 
against double doors at c.) 

Billy (without c. in voice of drunken savageness). Let me in! 
(series of dull thuds against door c.) 

Dud. (without door r. c. b.) Who is without there! 

Kate (leaning against door r. c. b.) Hush, Dudley! 

Dud. (in tone of surprise). Is it Kate? 

Kate. Yes. (thuds against c. door cease. Kate crosses tO' 
window L. c. gazing off l. ; bright moonlight without.) 

(Enter Western Billy at r. 2 e. with lithe, swift motion;, 
hatless, hair in disorder; shirt open at chest, eyes inflamed with 
drink and passion; pistol in belt. Kate concealed by a window 
curtain watches him). 

Billy (in low , husky voice) . Caned me, did he! He'll pay for it f 

Dud. (ivithout, r. c. b.). Kate.! 

Billy. Calling herl (assumes threatening attitude with hand 
on pistol, facing door. r. c. b.) 



142 hadley: 

Dud. Unlock this door. 

Billy {raising voice). In thar, are ye! Come out! 

Dud. (sternly). Is that you Billy? Leave that room! 

Billy. Not till we've settled our little score, Dudley Brant! 

Dud. Kate — where are 3^ou! (Billy rushes against door, 
R. c. B. which resists him). 

Billy (furiously). Locked yerself in, eh? Come out, yer 
white-livered sneak and coward! Yer've got ter face a man, 
this time! 

Dud. I'll be there in a minute. Kate! Do you hear me — 
unlock this door! 

Billy. I'll get yer out! (rolls up sleeves and is about to cross 
to windoiv when his attention is attracted by Kate's movement 
behind curtains. Suspiciously.) Who's thar? (ivith hand on 
pistol). Who's thar, I say? (Kate throivs back curtain. Pause. 
Billy starts back in drunken astonishment) Kate! 

Kate (bravely). Well? 

Billy. So it's you, my beauty! (jeeringly) Now who would 
hev expected to find Kate Berwyn concealed here! A fine 
young leddy you air. Why ain't you locked in thar with him? 
Or wuz he in such a hurry to get away from Western Billy thet 
he left you behind? 

Dud. (sternly). Kate, I command you to release me! 

Billy, (turning to door r. c. b. furiously). Yer coward; ter 
lock yerself in and blame it on the gal! I'll get yer out o' thar 
(swings chair above his head, advancing to Blue Room door.) 

Kate (crossing quickly and standing before door). Be careful, 
William Berwyn! 

Billy (savagely). Out o' the way, yer fool! Yer'll get 
hurt! (smashes chair against door where it splinters. Kate runs 
to window.) 

Kate (looking through window anxiously). No sign of them yet. 

Billy (flinging down chair, upsetting table r. c. back, and send- 
ing floiver jar spinning across stage). Curse it! Curse it all! 
(sees Kate) Come away from thet window! (dashes for her. 
Kate avoids hitn and crosses r. once more.) 

Dud. (thumping on door r. c. b.). Kate, my property is in 
danger! I can manage this fellow. I command you to release 



me 



Kate (to Dudley). No, no — he will kill you! 
Billy (turning savagely on Kate). What — you hev the key, 
gal? (threateningly) Give it up! 
Kate. No! 

Billy. Give it to me, gal! I can take it! 
Kate. You shall not harm Dudley. 



HADUUY. 143 

Billy (iinuspiiii:, her liainl). Thet we'll see! (Katic pulls 
away hand, shriiikiiii^ jroiii him icitli expression oj hhilhiiii!,.) 

Kate. Don't touch me! 

Billy. How yer must hate me — don't yer? {jiereely). 

Kate. Drunkard and coward that you are, I despise you! 

Billy (fnrioitsly). Very well! I'll kill him for those words. 
{adva)ites threatcniiii^ly). Give me thet key! 

Kate (tcariui:, open neck of dress and thritstiui:, key in her 
bosom). Now, William Berwyn, take it if you dare! 

Billy {his fini:^ers ivorking convulsively ivhile f^azinti al Kate 
passionately). You're a beauty, gal! How yer must love him! 

Kate. As I hate you. 

Billy (abruptly). Very well. — (f^ocs quickly np to ivindoiv, l. c. 
B. lookiui^ of! L. C'onu's dozvn to table r. c. i^aizint:^ at Kate zvith 
passionate eyes. Kate retreats behind lid>le endcavorin<^ to fasten 
her dress.) 

Dud. Has that scoundrel hurt you? Let me hear your voice, 
Kate. Are you there? 

Kate. I am here. He dare not lay hands on me. (to Billy, 
tvho continues to gaze passionately at her). What are you going 
to do? ' 

Billy (recklessly). Going to do? Why, my beauty, I'm 
going to amuse myself. Since Mr. Dudley Brant locks himself 
in closets, leaving young ladies to entertain me, why — (quickly 
turns out lamp on table between them at r. c. Stage dark except 
for broad belt of moonlight ivhich streams through window at l. c. b.) 
There; thet's fer a beginning! 

Dud. (off R. c. b.). Quick, Kate — unlock the door. You 
need me now! 

Kate. Yes — {runs to door r. c. b. and hastily inserts key in 
lock. Billy rushes forward and sivings Kate back into center of 
room before she can open door. Kate rushes to windoiv l. c. b. 
Key remains in lock.) 

Billy. No yer don't! You stay in thar, Dudley Brant! It's 
my turn now! 

Kate (standing in moonlight gazing anxiously from casement, 
off l.). Hurjy, Harvey — hurry! 

Dud. (in fierce voice). Lay a finger on Kate and I'll kill you! 

Billy (standing in moonlight c. looking passionately at Kate 
who remains at ivindow) Why, how concerned you are about 
her! 

Dud. (desperately). You came here to meet me. You can 
have that meeting, here — now — in this room — unarmed as I am! 
Kate will give you the key. Kate! 

Billy. I've got the key! It's in the door thar, and I'll use 



144 HADLEY. 

it when I'm ready. Concerned about Kate, are yer? Well, 
I'm going to torture yer a little, 

Kate (looking through casement; aside). I see the lights! 
They are coming! 

Billy (advancing up stage in moonlight toward Kate ivho re- 
coils against ivindow at his approach). As for you, my beauty; 
you despise me, do yer? My presence and language is an insult; 
is it? You shouldn't lock yerself in a room with a man yer 
despise like thet. 

Dud. (furiously). Billy! 

Kate. Don't come near me! 

Billy (mockingly). "Near you," my beauty? I'm going ter 
make love to yer. I'm going to fold yer in these arms and kiss 
those pretty lips. Thet's what I'm going to do! 

Dud. (frantically). Billy! 

Billy. Ef only to make Mr. Old Fogey in thar a little nervous, 
and to repay yer fer despising me. No yer don't, (catches her as 
she tries to evade him.) 

Kate (struggling and calling). Dudley — Dudley! (Dudley 
beats frantically against Blue Room door. Hum of voices of ap- 
proaching posse of citizens r. c. b.) 

Billy, (struggling with Kate). Those pretty hands can scratch, 
eh ? (seizes her wrists with one hand while holding her to him with 
other arm.) 

Kate. You brute! Let me go! 

Billy. Not yet, Kate, dear. One little kiss first; there, there, 
don't struggle so — (throws one arm across Kate's slioidders, 
pressing her to him. Kate holds back her head with expression of 
loathing). Are yer gettin' nervous, Dudley Brant? I'm only 
kissing Kate, — I might be killing you instead. (Torches and 
lanterns of posse flare without ivindow l. c. b. Hum of voices. 
Terrific knocks on doors at c. Billy hesitates, still holding Kate 
and looking toivard window). Wut's that? 

Sheriff (ivithout c). Open this door. You are my prisoner! 

Dud. Break down that door! He is assaulting Kate! 

Billy (looscnijig his hold on Kate, ivho sinks to the floor, and 
assuming threatening position, facing c. doors and windoivs with 
pistol in hand) Take me ef yer can! I'm Western Billy, and 
good fer twenty countrymen! (as doors at c begin to yield). 
Force thet door, and I'll shoot! (battering without ceases, and 
voices heard in loud consultation.) 

(Enter Harvey and Elmer at r. 1 e. behind Billy.) 

Elmer. I've got him, Harvey! (springs on Billy's back, 
pinning his arms to his body. Harvey hastily slips bolts of door 
at c. and Sheriff and posse rush in, seizing Billy. Posse 



HADLEY. 145 

armed with pitchforks, clubs, axc-handlcs and lanterns. Two 
ivith torches remain ivithout doors at c.) 

DvD. (poitndinf: at door R. c. -B.). This door! This door! Will 
you open it! 

Sheriff (at c). Why, who's in thar? 

Dud. I — Dudley Brant! The key is in the lock. Somebody 
quick release me! (Harvey turns key in door r. c. b. and Dudley 
rushes out. Breaks through croivd and bends over Kate). Katharine, 
Katharine! — ^^M}' brave little woman! 

CURTAIN. 



146 HADLEY. 



ACT V. 

SCENE. — Same as Act I. Polly seated at tabic, r. c, ivith 
writing material before her. Sue and Jane knitting in rose- 
bower at L. c. 

Polly {finishing writing and looking up from paper petulantly). 
Never, never did I see such people ! Both in love, yet both afraid 
to speak of it! What is worse they have stopped their visiting. 
A week ago Mr. Dudley called at Berwyn three times each day, 
and Kate came here as often. To-day nobody visits. Auntie 
Sue and Jane Holly sit there and gossip, {motions towards l.) 
At Berwyn, Kate is busy with departing; while in the house, Mr. 
Dudley mopes, and tries to read, {impatiently) As though a man 
in love could read! {sympathizingly) Poor Mr. Dudley, he read all 
yesterday and all this morning, and only turned one page. The 
book can't have much interest, {pause) Such a meeting as Kate 
and he had yesterday! It was all I could do to get him over 
there. Positively, I was ashamed of Mr. Dudley; he is usually 
so calm and self possessed. But vesterday he failed to find his 
tongue, and Kate was just as bad. Both seemed confused and 
bent on avoiding the other's eye. Then he tried to thank her, 
but not knowing what to say, his words sounded silly, cold 
and formal. I think he heard them, for he stopped quite sud- 
denly, and there they stood. Then Mr. Dudley asks: "Do you 
leave Hadley to-morrow, Kate?" and Kate says "Yes," quite 
low and sadly, {energetically). If he hadn't been a goose he 
would have taken her in his arms right then and there, {positively) 
That was what she wanted — I saw it in her face. But no; 
another silence followed until Mr. Dudley abruptly said "good- 
bye," and left the house. And Kate just stood there helpless, 
never making a move to call him back. I always call the Doctor 
back when we have quarrels, {pause) Now, what's to be done? 
Shall Kate leave Hadley and Mr. Dudley remain a bachelor? 
Well, no indeedy! They must meet and explain before Kate 
leaves. But how to bring her here? Perhaps this note will do 
it. Let's see {reads) " Dearest Kate : Can you come immediately ? 
Mr. Dudley is ill — very ill, and wishes to speak with you. Yours, 
Polly." {seals note with solemn face and looks at it lying on table.) 
Now, what will they think of me for that? Heigho! What an 



HADLEY. 147 

awful thing it is to straighten love affairs. But I'm doing this 
for Mr. Dudley's sake, (rising) I'll find Harvey and have him carry 
the note to Kate, (goes up c. through hedge and exits r. 3 e. 
During foregoing scene, Sue and Jane, while knitting, have carried 
on an expressive mimic conversation.) 

Jane. Anyway, Sue, what d'ye think of it? 

Sue. (emphatically). Disgraceful! 

Jane. It wuz strange she should be locked in with Dudley. 

Sue (with voice full of meaning). She's cute! 

Jane. And stranger still for Dudley to be in thet little room. 

Sue. She knew her business, Jane. 

Jane (glancing at Sue). What d'ye mean by thet. Sue? 

Sue. Mean by it? I mean the whole thing was cut-and- 
dried. Theatricals air effective, and thet fainting in the moon- 
light did for him. All done to draw Dudley on; thet's what I 
say. 

Jane. I wonder ef thet wuz her idea, Sue? 

Sue. What other idea would she have? Western Billy re- 
turns and she loses Berwyn. She must live somewhere, so 
she snaps up Dudley, (impatiently) Lord, but Dudley's a fool. 

Jane. Most men air fools with pretty women. Sue. (suddenly 
catching Sue's arm and looking through leaves of boiver). Look! 
There's Caleb and Tilly Emmons. (Tilly and Caleb have entered 
from l. 3 e. and pause at hedge c. Caleb very attentive to Tilly 
in mimic conversation. Tilly hangs her head.) 

Sue (aside to Jane). Jane, he's proposin'! 

Jane (ivith interest). Do you think so, Sue? 

Sue. Why of course, Jane Holly; a man doing anything else 
wouldn't look so sheepish. 

Jane. Thet's so. I've often wondered. Sue, jest how a 
proposal sounds. I ain't curious, but still — (hesitates.) 

Sue (promptly). Since you propose it, suppose we sit still 
and listen? We'll hear every word and they'll never know 
we're near 'em. 

Jane. But isn't it wrong to listen. Sue? 

Sue. Wrong? — of course it isn't. Caleb Bummell won't 
say anything he's ashamed of others hearing, and if he does, he 
deserves to have 'em hear it. My conscience is easy on listening, 

Jane. I'm kind o' nervous about it. Sue. (Caleb and Tilly 
come sloivly down, seating themselves on bench at c) 

Caleb. You oughter marry, Tilly. 

Tilly. I don't know, Caleb; I've had experience with one, 
and it wuzn't all honey. It's an awful thing to marry a man 
and then discover he ain't the husband you oughter hev. 

Caleb. It's a woman's fault, Tilly — she does the picking. 



148 HADLEY. 

Tilly (pensively). Thet's true; but sometimes there ain't 
much to pick from. 

Caleb (with emphasis). You want a man, Tilly! 

Tilly (coyly). Do you think so, Caleb? 

Caleb (swelling chest with importance). A man as has a hun- 
dred acres, at least; a man as has a nest egg in the bank; a man 
as is a man, and looks it. A man as is forty-four around the 
chest and five foot seven in his stockings. Thet's the man you 
want, Tilly. 

Tilly (undecidedly). I don't know, Caleb. 

Caleb. But I do, Tilly. Lord, you can't go on hobnobbin' 
and drinkin' tea with them two ugly spinsters. (Sue and Jane 
suddenly sit erect with horrified faces) They ain't fit company 
fer you, Tilly. 

Jane (sharply aside to Sue). Ugly spinsters? Who does he 
mean by that? 

Sue (moving her knees up and down with suppressed vehemence). 
You know, Jane Holly, and so do I. (Jane sinks hack in seat, fan- 
ning violently.) 

Caleb. I hate ter see you with 'em, Tilly, you might ketch 
some of their ways. 

Tilly. They are very respectable women, Caleb. (Sue and 
Jane nod at one another and sit up listening). 

Caleb (rubbing his chin dubiously). Respectable? Yah! 
You know, Tilly, when women reach a certain age and style, 
nothin' else can touch 'em. Nothing else will touch 'em — 
(with emphasis). They've got to be respectable. 

Sue (restraining herself with diijiculty). I'll fly out in a 
minute, Jane> 

Jane. Don't do it. Sue, you'll disgrace us forever. 

Caleb (to Tilly). Those two women, Tilly, air a public 
nuisance. 

Tilly. Why, what do you mean, Caleb? 

Caleb. Mean? I mean they're giving unmarried men no 
peace in Hadley. (with righteous indignation). Why, Tilly, there 
was old Dillyfiower, who married his housekeeper last week. 
Thet poor man confessed to me thet Sue Perkins drove him to it. 
She would lay fer him when he came out of his gate, and some- 
times hed the impudence to walk in when the man was sitting 
quiet and peaceable on his own front porch. There was no 
escaping her, Tilly. 

Sue (who has risen and is peering through leaves of bower at 
Caleb). Oh-h-h-h! 

Jane (pulling Sue into seat). I told you you wuz going it too 
strong with Dillyfiower, Sue. 



HADLEY. 149 

Tilly. Sue may be giddy, Caleb, but Jane — 

Caleb {interrupting scornjidly). Jane Holly? Thet old 
bundle of bones? She's worse than, the other. She wuz hang- 
ing 'round farmer Andrews a week after his wife's funeral telling 
him thet the only consolation fer a man's losing one woman was 
to take up another. Don't talk to me about Jane Holly. 

Jane {rising). I'm going to give Caleb a piece of my mind. 

Sue {pulling her into seat). No you don't, Jane. 

Caleb. The pair of them ought to be thrown in the fish- 
pond, {both Jane and Sue bound out of their seats and glare 
helplessly at one another, and sit down again.) 

Tilly. Mr. Bummell, I shall leave you if you don't speak 
more respectful of my friends. 

Caleb {tenderly moving nearer). Don't do thet, Tilly, and 
don't call me Bummell. Call me Caleb. Do you know, Tilly, 
the only thing about myself thet I don't particularly like is — 
Bummell. 

Tilly {coyly). Bummell isn't such a pretty name as Em- 
mons, Caleb. 

Caleb {authoritatively). Now look here, Tilly, I've no ob- 
jections to a decent veneration for Emmons; but I don't want 
to hear the name of Bummell trampled under it — especially 
when you've got a sneaking likeness for the same. 

Tilly {sharply). Who said I hed a ''sneaking likeness'' fer 
Bummell? 

Caleb. Why you did— or at least, I thought you acted so, 
Tilly, {doggedly). As for the name of Emmons being prettier 
than Bummell, well, thet's considering. There be worse names 
in the world than Bummell, and when it comes to Emmons — 
which always reminds me of lemons, (and sounds sour, like old 
Emmons undoubtedly wuz), why I'd change it, Tilly. 

Tilly {rising ivith spirit). He was not so old, Mr. Bummell. 

Caleb. He would be sixty if he wuz living, Tilly; he would 
be sixty if he wuz a day. 

Tilly {tapping fan against knuckles and pacing stage with 
suppressed feeling). And how old are you, Mr. Bummell? 

Caleb {evasively). Well, I'm not sixty — besides, I'm forty- 
four around the chest, and thet's something, no matter what a 
man's age is. 

Tilly. You are fifty-nine, Mr. Bummell. 

Caleb {rising irately). Stop calling me Bummell, Tilly. 

Tilly {in same tone). You are fifty-nine, Mr. Bummell, and 
my dear, lost Emmons was spryer than you air. 

Caleb {hotly). I don't know about thet, Tilly; he wuz 
younger when he died. Besides, he was club footed. Old Em- 



150 HADLEY. 

mons hed more escapes from falling in this world than any man 
I ever heard on. His toes wuz always striking his heels, Tilly. 

Tilly {indignantly). Mr. Bummell! (Jane a}ui Sue peep 
around bower with excitement.) 

Caleb (emphatically). And old Emmons was a trifle — jest a 
trifle — bowlegged. Now I ain't bowlegged nor pigeon-toed, 
Tilly. 

Tilly (wrath fully). You? You're worse. You've got false 
teeth and dyed whiskers. 

Caleb (startled). Hoighty! I hev, hev 1? Why, what hez 
come over you, Tilly? Remember, I'm forty-four — 

Tilly (interrupting in great wrath). Your forty-four around 
the chest is all wind, and you are as vain as an old peacock. 
There now; you will abuse my dear, lost Emmons! You will 
say he wuz — I won't repeat it Mr. Bummell. I'm done with 
you, Caleb, (goes -up c.) and when Tilly Emmons changes her 
name for Bummell, which rhymes with — I don't know what it 
does rhyme with — you'll know it. So good bye, and good 
riddance (with emphasis) Mr. Bummell. (exit c, and off r. 3 e. 
shaking with wrath. Sue and Jane leave rose bower and look after 
her, then at each other in amazement.) 

Caleb (helplessly). Well, hoighty-toighty ! I'm jiggered! 
(sinks on bench, at c. mopping forehead with red handkerchief.) 

Sue (to Jane, pointing vindictively at Caleb). Now we have 
him, Jane! 

Jane (coming dozen on l. of Caleb, spitefully). So you thought 
Tilly Emmons would marry you, Caleb Bummell? (Caleb gazes 
helplessly at her over handkerchief). 

Sue (coming doivn on Caleb's right). You, the meanest man 
in Hadley. (Caleb turns toivard Sue.) 

Jane (spitefully). Who has worn the same hat six years. 

Sue. Who don't vote, 'cause of the poll tax. Remember, 
Jane, how he went on at his wife's funeral? 

Jane. Said he would never marry agin because thet woman 
hed been so dear to him. 

Sue. Expensive, he meant. 

Caleb (ivho has been gazing helplessly from one to the other, start- 
ing to his feet). Stop it! 

Sue. (vindictively). False teeth! 

Jane. False beard! 

Caleb (shouting). Hags! (turns, pntting fingers in ears, and 
running up stage c, spinsters closely following him). 

Jane. Forty-four around the chest — 

Sue (shrieking in his ear). All wind. 

Jane. Old peacock! (Caleb wildly throws hands above his 



HADLEY. 151 

head and exits r. 3 e. ; Sue and Jane following with jibes and cries.) 
(Enter Dudley Brant on piazza of house at r; thoughtfid and 
despondent in demeanor; book in hand. Stands leaning against 
piazza column looking off l. 3 e.) 

SOFT MUSIC. 

Dud. (musingly). How happy have been these past three 
years! How bright with the sunshine of her presence. It is 
nearly over. In a few hours Hadley will know her no longer; 
/ will know her no longer. The light which goes out of our com- 
munity leaves my own life darkened as well, (descends steps 
slowly and crosses to table, r, c. resting book against table). Why 
does happiness deny herself to some men ? Twice that phantom 
called Love has beckoned me on; yet, each time as I sprang for- 
ward, she eluded my caress. Truly my destiny has played 
strange tricks with me. (leaves book on table' r. c. and crosses 
sitting in rose bower l. c.) Oh, for the life, the strength of ten 
years ago! I could woo her then as women would be wooed. 
But, no; it is not to be. This mask, — my face — proclaims me an 
aged man before my time. Deep lines, gray hairs, are here, 
and young and healthy love cares not for these. 

(Enter Kate, l. 3 e. unobserved by Dudley and through hedge 
at c.) 

Kate (looking at house). Dudley ill, and wishes to speak with 
me? (pauses for a moment on piazza steps, and then ascends steps 
and enters house at r.) 

Dud, Were I younger, I might have hopes of her. God 
knows my love is not impaired with age. But how can she 
know that ? (buries face in hands. Re-enter Kate from house at r.) 

Kate. There is no one within, (descends steps, looking towards 
rose-bower). Perhaps he is there, (crosses to boiver with slight 
hesitation. Stops on seeing Dudley. Then goes up to him 
putting hand on his shoulder and speaking softly). Dudley? 

Dud. (looking up joyfidly). Kate! 

Kate (gazing into his face anxiously). Are you ill? 

Dud. Perhaps. The disease is mental; though body and 
soul must suffer with it. One physician can cure me, and one 
alone. 

Kate. I do not understand. 

Dud. How should you? {making room for her beside him.) 
Come, Kate, sit here. 

Kate (holding back, and leaning slightly against edge of boivcr). 
Polly sent for me — 

.Dud. (interrupting happily). She shall have a new dress for 
that. 

Kate. Saying you were ill and wished to see me. Here is 



152 HADLEY. 

her note, (hands him note as Dudley looks up with puzzled ex- 
pression.) 

Dud. {after glancing at paper). Either Polly is mad or I un- 
conscious of my illness. 

Kate {in voice cold with disappointment) . It was a mistake, 
then? You did not wish to speak with me. {turns slowly going 
up stage.) 

Dud. {rising quickly). Wait, Katharine. (Kate pauses at 
R. c; Dudley approaches speaking gently). I have much to say 
— so much, indeed, that I scarcely trust these unmeaning words. 
{hesitates) I blundered yesterday; my speech was cold and 
trivial. Perhaps it was Polly who made me nervous — perhaps 
yourself ? 

Kate {looking up). I, Dudley? 

Dud. Yes; I cannot explain. — {hesitates) I — cannot explain, 
{clasps hands behind him and turns away, pacing stage at r. Kate 
leans with hand against rustic bench c. regarding him. Dudley 
ttirns). We have spent many hours in this garden, Katharine! 

Kate. Many, Dudley. 

Dud. Our walks, our conversations, were delightful. You 
enjoyed those walks, did you not? (Kate nods her head slowly, 
looking into his face earnestly as though to read his feelings). To 
me, those hours were the happiest in a lifetime. If you enjoyed 
them as much as I, I should ask — {abruptly). But there — I am a 
fool! You go away to-day; a new life is before you. New 
acquaintances; new friends await 3^ou there — friends more con- 
genial by age and taste, {ivith voice which falters slightly). You 
will marry, Kate. — 

Kate {regarding him with large, quiet eyes). 1 shall never 
marry ! 

Dud. {with some vehemence). You should: it is the law of 
Heaven. Somewhere in this world, a man needs your aid and 
comfort. You will bring him the happiness he deserves. Do 
you know, Katharine, I am jealous of that man. Were I ten 
years younger you should not leave like this, {recovering himself) 
But there, — my words are foohsh. You had better leave me, 
Kate, {turns away and crosses r. to table.) 

Kate {taking a few steps toward him). Dudley! 

Dud, {half turning and idly toying with book on table). Yes? 

Kate. Before leaving, I must ask your forgiveness. I in- 
sulted you that day at Berwyn; I insulted you — my best friend. 
Can you ever forget those words? 

Dud. You were not yourself that morning, Kate. 

Kate. You'll never know my humiliation when you de- 
fended me after what I said. It was so brave; so noble. 



HADLEY. 153 

Dud. {protesting quietly). No, Kate — No! 

Kate. It was. I shall remember you as the best and noblest 
man I have ever known. (Dudley turns quickly. Kate extends 
her hand). Good bye. 

Dud. (taking Kate's hand in both of his). Not yet — not yet, 
Katharine. 

Kate. I must. — I leave Hadley to-day. 

Dud. {retaining her hand absently). To be sure, (suddenly). 
You will miss the farm, Kate. Do you remember you once told 
me it would break your heart to leave Berwyn? 

Kate (looking up at him). My heart is near breaking. 

Dud. (patting her hand gently). Little woman — little woman. 
You will miss your friends: Hadley holds many friends for you. 

Kate (zvith tears in eyes). I shall miss my friends. 

Dud. (sitting with Kate at c.) Where do you go, Katharine? 

Kate. First to visit a friend in Reading. 

Dud. And after that? 

Kate. Then to the little homestead I told you of. — That 
alone is mine. Anne will live with me. 

Dud. But how will you live? What is your income? 

Kate. I can sew. — I can earn my living. 

Dud. No, Kate! You must not turn seamstress. The 
work is wearing. It will stamp harsh lines on that pretty face. 

Kate. There is nothing else that I can do. 

Dud. Why go to Reading at all? 

Kate. .You forget; I have no other home. 

Dud. (rising and pacing stage at r.). Ah, yes — yes. (pattsing) 
Kate? 

Kate. Yes, Dudley? 

Dud. (with less confidence). Kate, I was thinking — (aside). 
Strange that I am so nervous upon this subject. I know Kate 
well, too. Yet her youth, her beauty, cry out against it. 
(aloud, awkwardly). Kate, I — . (aside) I cannot — I feel so old 
beside her! 

Kate. You wish to say something, Dudley? 

Dud. (aside). Ten thousand would I give to be ten years 
younger ! 

Kate (rising). Once again, then — good-bye. 

Dud. (turning quickly). One moment, Kate; I have not 
finished. Indeed I have not begun. Sit there, Katharine, while 
I think. 

Kate (sitting once more on bench, c). What is it you wish to 
say? 

Dud. (aside). At least it will do no harm to speak. She can 
do no more than scorn my offer, (aloud) Kate? 



1 54 HADLEY. 

Kate (quietly). Yes? 

Dud. (aside, helplessly). Yes! (aloud, suddenly) Katharine, 
do I look old? 

Kate (sniiling). What a foolish question. 

Dud. I know it is foolish; nevertheless, I wish an answer. 
Miss Perkins thinks I am aging rapidly. Is that vour opinion, 
Kate? 

Kate (smiling). Why, then; of course you are old — 

Dud. (raising his hand and interrupting her with feeling). 
I am old, then — to you. (turns away and leans with one hand 
against piazza rail with downbent head. Kate studies him at- 
tentively, then crosses r. to his side.) 

Kate (anxiously). Dudley? 

Dud. {in hollow voice). Yes? 

Kate. Have I offended with my words? 

Dud. (with face turned away). No, Kate — no. 

Kate (anxiously). I am afraid I have. Why — (lea)is slightly 
against Jiis arm ivliile trying to look into his face. With feeling). 
Oh, I have offended you, Dudley! 

Dud. It is nothing, Kate — nothing. 

Kate (quickly). I see. — You failed to hear me out. I was 
going to say you were old to a certain extent, but wiser and 
better than other men. The best, the kindliest man I have ever 
known. 

Dud. (li'ith face still turned azvay). Rather fatherly, eh, Kate? 
I understand. 

Kate (turning away from him ivith feeling). No — you do not 
understand. You hurt me by misinterpreting my words like that. 

Dud. (turning quickly). I would not hurt you if salvation 
itself depended on it. I wished to say this! You have no 
home; accept mine. It needs you — I need you. Will you be my 
wife, Kate? (as Kate steps hack. Dud. n'avers, then crosses r. 
standing at foot of piazza steps, n'ith his back turned to her; hands 
clasped behind him, with fingers interlocking nervously. Kate, 
her face lit happily, takes a step towards him, then stops. Pause.) 

Kate (aside). Well, why doesn't he turn? (pause) Why 
doesn't he look at me? (pause) This is the queerest behaviour — 
(as if suddenly comprehending and speaking with great feeling) Oh, 
I see — it is his generosity. He would sacrifice himself to give me a 
home. I thought — (hesitates.) 

Dud. (half turning). Well, Kate, I am waiting. 

Kate (sadly). No, Dudley; I thank you deeply, heartily, but 
I could not consent. I shall never forget your kindness. Good 
bye, sir. (goes up l. c; Dudley ivatching her. As she reaches 
opening in hedge at c. Dud. suddenly slaps book against table r. c.) 



HADLEY. 155 

Dud. (harshly). Kate! (Kate pauses). You still love that 
—puppy? 

Kate {quietly). What do you mean? 

Dud. That fellow — Kingsley! 

Kate (shaking head slowly). No; I put him out of my heart 
that night. 

Dud. Then, why won't you marry me? 

Kate (facing him). Because I could not consent to the 
sacrifice, Dudley Brant. 

Dud. Is it a sacrifice? An elderly man can love a woman 
as tenderly as a younger one. 

Kate. I did not mean sacrifice on my part. 

Dud. There is no other. We should not do so badly, Kate. 
You like the farm here; you would be near your old home of 
Berwyn. Or, if you preferred, we would travel. My life would 
be devoted to your happiness. (Kate Uirns away thoughtftilly) 
r am twenty years your senior, Katharine. I know the differ- 
ence is most too much; I cannot blame you for shrinking from 
me. (sits on bench c. facing audience with face pressed against 
hands. Kate regards him attentively, then comes down, putting 
her hand on his shoulder). 

Kate (tenderly). How you have misunderstood me! 

Dud. (zvith face still hidden.) I should have known better, but 
I could not help it. I am a man, and I had to love you, 
Kate. 

Kate. Dudley! (sits beside him with hands in lap. Pause.). 

Dud. Have you gone, Katharine? 

Kate. No, I am thinking. 

Dud. Thinking will not bring the remedy. Don't mind 
me ; I am punished for my presumption in loving you. 

Kate (in low hesitating voice). Dudley; have you forgotten 
about my not being a Berwyn? My birth is uncertain. 

Dud. (who has removed hands from face, but still sits with down- 
bent head). I care not about your birth, Kate. 

Kate. But you should — you must care. Other people will. 
Something — later — might be proven about me. You would 
regret your marriage to a woman without a name. 

Dud. (looking up, quickly). Is that the obstacle, Katharine? 

Kate (rising and moving away, l.). Yes; — what other could 
there be? 

Dud. (rising and speaking firmly). Kate! Come here! 

Kate No, — you are acting hastily, now Dudley. (Dudley 
steps towards her as she moves away.) 

Dud. Katharine — Katharine! Do you hesitate for that? I 
thought it was the difference betw^een our ages. A man does 



156 HADLEY. 

not marry a woman for her pedigree ; he marries her for what she 
is. (Kate shakes her head.) 

Kate. The world is less generous in its judgment. You 
would be reproached for taking such a woman into your home, 
^ou would learn to regret your marriage. 

Dud. I can still handle my cane, Katharine; no one will 
speak against my wife, I promise you. Are your objections 
overruled? {pause. Kate silent, with bowed head. Dudley 
steps to her side. Tenderly). Come, little woman; my home 
needs your cheering presence. You are the one gleam of sun- 
shine in the pathway of life before me. My heart is saddened 
and will grow old. Let me take the sunshine into it. I crave 
its warmth; its love; its happiness. 

Kate {turning to him ivith loving eyes). Dudley! 

Dud. {foldijig her in his arms). My Kate! 

{Enter Dr. Peabody and Polly on piazza at r.) 

Dr. p. {mischievously). Do we interrupt? 

Dud. {looking up). You do, — you do ! Go away, immediately ! 
{extending hand to Peabody who descends steps with Polly). 
There, old fellow — congratulate me. The sweetest woman in the 
world has consented to make my life happy. 

Dr. p. {sliaking Dudley's hand). I cannot agree with you 
about the sweetest woman, Dudley; there is Polly, you know. 

Polly {kissing Kate). I'm so glad! I'm sure I don't know 
what would have become of Mr. Dudley. I've been worrying 
about him all morning. 

Dud. And writing notes about him; eh, Polly, my dear? 

Dr. p. {aside to Dudley). For Polly's sake I have consented 
to take Miss Perkins into our house. 

Dud. {shaking Doctor's hand). My dear generous fellow! 
{in Doctor's ear) Look out for squalls. (Doctor smiles and 
turns away to converse with Polly at r. c. ivho has been tugging 
at his sleeve. To Kate) Katharine, I think those young people 
would prefer to be alone. Come! {leads Kate to bower c.) Now 
if Peabody had the least bit of good sense, he would not intrude 
at such a moment. A good fellow is Peabody, but — {shakes 
head and finishes conversation in mimic; sitting with Kate in 
bower. 

{Enter Caleb Bummell and Tilly Emmons at c.) 

Caleb {iii loud voice). A woman oughter marry, Tilly. 
What else did the Lord make 'em for? 

Tilly. I s'pose you're right, Caleb. I once said I'd never 
marry again; {resignedly) but a woman changes her mind on 
that subject. 

Caleb {to Dr. Peabody). Hullo, Peabody — that wuz a 



HADLEY. 157 

good position you fell into. How's Miss Kate after her fright 
last night? 

Kate (as Dudley and she step from bower). Very well, I 
thank you, Caleb. 

Caleb {Uirning). Oh, you're there! (starts ivith surprise on 
seeing Kate's hand resting confidingly in Dudley's). Hullo! 

Dud. Caleb, Mrs. Emmons — congratulate me. Miss Berwyn 
has consented to become my wife. 

Caleb (shaking Dudley's hand). Well, I'm jiggered! 

Tilly. Now, who'd a' thought it! (aside to Caleb). Poor 
Sue — she always planned to get Dudley. 

Caleb (with fine contempt). Sue? Well, Tilly, I always 
said Dudley wuz a lucky man ; and now I know it. 

Tilly. Lucky in getting Kate, you mean? 

Caleb. No, Tilly — lucky in not getting Sue Perkins; thet's 
what I mean. (Dudley and Kate have walked up to hedge l. c. b.) 

Dud. (looking off h.). Hi! Look at this! Here comes Jane 
Holly and running at that. 

(Enter Jane Holly c. excitedly waving paper.) 

Jane. Listen! Everybody listen! I'm going to be married. 

Omnes {in tone of great surprise.) Married? 

Caleb (dumbfounded). Who to? 

Jane. To Jem Struthers. 

Tilly. Old Jem, who has one eye? 

Caleb (turning on Tilly as if she had solved a problem). 
Thet's it, Tilly; the poor man can't see. I heard his other eye 
was affected. 

Jane (primly smoothing out paper). Listen to what he says: 
(reading) "Miss Jane Holly: If it's true what I hear that you 
want to get married, well then, I'm your man." (looking up) 
Thet's ruther sudden, now, ain't it? But it's just like Jem. 
(reads) "I married once and wuz a fool, ez you know, and I 
reckon I'm going to be a fool once agin — 

Caleb (interrupting grimly). There's no doubt about thet! 

Jane (continuing). "However, thet's for you to say, and as 
the youngsters need some sort of a mother, I ask you to come 
and take charge. The eating's not fine, but you'll find plenty of 
it. I remain, ma'am, Jem Struthers." (Jane folds paper) There! 

Dud, Will you accept liim, Miss Holly? 

Jane. Accept him? Of course. — (aH^/oj-rs/j) He can't change 
his mind now, can he, Mr. Dudley? (Dudley shakes his head, 
smiling). 

Caleb. There's no escaping — Lord help him! 

Jane (looking around). But where's Sue? I must tell Sue 
the news. 



158 HADLEY. 

(Enter Sue Perkins at c.) 

Sue. I've heard it, Jane Holly. That man couldn't do 
worse if he tried, (crosses and ascends piazza steps r.) 

Jane (going up c. fanning zvrathfully). I don't know, Sue — 
he might have asked you. We're going to be married next 
Thursday, (exit c. bobbing head vigorously.) 

Sue. (surveying group at c. from piazza). So you're all going 
to be married? Thank the Lord I am not. I'm the only 
respectable woman left in Hadley. (exit in house at r. letting door 
slam after her.) 

Caleb (gazi)ig after Sue and shaking head). Thet woman — 
thet woman! (conies doivn c. to bower, where Dudley and Kate 
are conversing ivith wrapt attention). Now, Dudley Brant, what 
air you going to do about Billy? (Dudley and Kate pay no 
attention). Thet man is a firebrand in this community; and you 
air in a position to put thet firebrand out. So I say, jail him. 
(Dudley pays no attention.) 

Tilly {mildly). That would be putting him in, don't you 
think, Caleb? 

Caleb (ignoring Tilly's pun and turning to Dr. Peabody H'Jio 
is conversing with Polly at r. c.) And you'll agree with me; 
won't you. Dr. Peabody? (Doctor pays no attention. Caleb 
turns inipatiently to Tilly) Well, everybody is durned unsociable, 
to-day, ain't they, Tilly? 

Tilly (moving closer to him). They're in love, Caleb; I 
wouldn't disturb them ef I were you. 

Caleb (obstinately). They may be in love, but thet still en- 
titles other people to some consideration. Now, I'm in love, 
Tilly, but I ain't deaf and dumb over it. {raising voice and turning 
toward Dudley) I was saying, Dudley Brant, that Western Billy 
is a firebrand, — 

Dr. p. (at R.). What is that you were saying, Caleb? 

Caleb (turning eagerly to Dr. Peabody, who is immediately 
engrossed in conversation with Polly). Exactly; now you will 
agree with me, doctor, when I say thet — (Dr Peabody never 
notices and Caleb turns in disgust to Tilly) It's no use, Tilly — 
they air beyond the powers of reasonin'. Perhaps we hed 
better leave them to themselves. 

Dudley (suddenly recollecting that Caleb had spoken). I 
agree with you entirely, Caleb, (returns to conversation ivith Kate, 
Caleb jabs his hat viciously on his head). 

Caleb (grindy). Come on, Tilly. — We're going home, (exit 
Caleb and Tilly arm in arm at c.) 

Polly (at table r. c. regarding Dr. Peabody). I am so happy 
Dr. Peabody. 



HADLEY. 159 

Dr. p. So am I, Polly. All I wanted was my Polly and a 
practice; and it now looks as though I soon should have both. 
Eh? (Polly whispers to Doctor and points to Dudley and Kate 
eui^ai^^cd in conversation in hoivcr. Polly nods; both she and 
Doctor rise and tiptoe r.) Perhaps they would prefer the whole 
garden? {as Polly is about to ascend piazza steps) Not that 
way, Polly. 

Polly (turnini^). Why not, Dr. Peabody? 

Dr. p. (indicating house, and pursing lips). Auntie Sue! 
Come! (passes arm about Polly's ivaist and they exit around 
house r. 2 E.) 

Kate (moving closer to Dudley). They have gone, Dudley. 

Dud. (folding an arm about her). I like this much better. I 
think we shall live in the strictest seclusion. My Katharine is all 
of the world that I care for just now. 

Kate. Dudley, will you answer one question? 

Dud. (fondly). One hundred, little woman. 

Kate. When did you discover you loved me? 

Dud. I cannot say. Perhaps that day when I feared 1 
should lose you; perhaps that night in the orchard when 1 stood 
under your window. 

Kate (}u\'itling to him). You were so brave, so strong in my 
defense that night. 

Dud. It was more love than bravery. And you, Kate? 

Kate. I discovered it when you defended me. I see now 
that I loved you long ago; but that foolish girl-passion blinded 
my eyes, (pause) Dudley, was your passion for that — other woman 
foolish ? 

Dud. Kate, Kate; the world has taught us the same hard 
lesson and brought us together with its teaching. Let us thank 
God for it. 

CURT.MN. 



MEDITATIONS 



f^* *^* <^^ 



GREAT MEN— AND OTHERS. 

Every young man of intelligence is a golden possibility; but 
it is only the exceptional one who can elevate himself above the 
drudgery of his surroundings and rise to a grand accomplishment. 

Poverty is the best training a young man can have. If he 
has ability it will stimulate him to greater effort. If he is a 
sluggard it will protect him from indulgence in vice. It is rich 
men's sons who have the greatest temptations. 

The men who conquer the world are those who can take the 
most punishment. The most dangerous pugilist is he who rises 
from every knock-down and continues the battle. 

Great men make their opportunities. The world is rife with 
possibilities for the master mind who knows how to utilize them. 

Conditions as they exist are so much clay awaiting the hand 
of the sculptor. All great men are sculptors. They take the 
clay and model it. 

The first requisite for success is a sound body. Many men 
have the ability to succeed but the imperfect machinery of their 
bodies breaks down under the strain and an early grave claims 
them. 

Cultivate a cheerful disposition. Many men are soured by 
the trials of life and the brilliancy of their intellect is niarred by 
a hateful exterior. A cheerful man is a greater inspiration to 
the people with whom he comes in contact than a dozen long- 
faced geniuses. 

Every man is blessed who has the use of his eyes, a straight 
back and a home he can call his own. Compare his lot with 
that of the blind, the cripple and the wanderer. 

The simplest things are blessings beyond cost, 
Which man appreciates the most — when lost. 

Nothing is lost in this world. Our lightest expression may 
reach to the ends of the earth, and influence a thousand lives 
in generations to come. 



MEDITATIONS. l6l 

Health, a contented disposition, and a loving wife, are the 
three greatest blessings God can bestow upon man. How 
many ruin their prospect of these joys by their own carelessness. 

To become successful a man must liave a certain amount of 
ability, a certain amount of tact, a certain amount of courage, 
and a large amount of perseverance. 

When you have an opportunity, make the most of it. Throw 
all your ability into the scale and ten chances to one the balance 
will fall in your favor. 

It has truly been said that a rolling stone gathers no moss. 
Men who make many changes in business are not successful men. 
Stick to one trade or one business house, study every detail of it 
and make yourself the genius of that occupation. There is a 
fortune in everything. 

Nothing is impossible to the man who dares. 

Success comes easily to some men. If they have a shadow 
of ability influential friends are at hand ready to publish it to 
the world. The great strain falls upon tliose who, without as- 
sistance attempt to scale the Wall of Indifference. Defeat and 
disappointment will be their daily companions, but they are the 
greater men if they reach the top in spite of this, and their 
victorv will resound through the ages. 

Great men arrive at decisions quickly. He who dallies is; 
either a feeble thinker, a sluggard or a coward. 

Great philanthropists may be said to purchase immortality. 

Bear yourself well before your fellow men. Men who have 
great ability must be conscious of it, but it should be their aim 
to conceal that consciousness. Truly great men do this. It is 
the little fellows possessing only a few sparks of the divine fire 
who make the most smoke about it. 

Truly great men write from no standpoint l)ut the standpoint 
of truth. Great men have no prejudices and no party. They 
hold themselves above the meaner passions, partisanship and 
aspirations of mankind and by their lives and their works 
preach the sermon of Love. Their duty in this world is to brand 
wrong, but not to condemn the wrong-doer. God alone has the 
power to judge. Great men are truly humble, for they, above 
all, most appreciate the littleness of man. 

Greatness is reserved for few: 
But good acts every man can do. 



l62 MEDITATIONS. 

MEN AND WOMEN. 

Man is an easy mortal. The woman who most wants him will 
get him, — unless a more attractive woman has her eye on him. 

Little women niarry big men, handsome women marry plain 
men, and clever women invariably take blockheads. Thus 
Nature evens up matters in their children. 

Intellectual women do not always niake good housewives. 
A great English actress has said that marriage and art don't 
agree. She was probably speaking from experience. 

A man arrives at conclusions by what he is pleased to call his 
reasoning powers ; a woman is mainly influenced by her intuition. 
Reasoning often runs astray; intuition seldom does. The man 
who despises the intuitive reasoning of a woman is a fool. 

More men owe their success to the good counsel of their wives 
than the world has any idea of. 

In nine cases out of ten the plain woman has more in her than 
the beauty. There is a reason for this. All women desire the 
admiration of men and the plain woman finds she must cultivate 
every accomplishment to obtain this; whereas her beautiful 
sister has no such incentive. 

The woman who says she does not like admiration is soured 
by the consciousness that she cannot obtain it. 

Don't rush into matrimony. It is an obtuse knot that holds 
for a life-time. 

Every woman is as beautiful as she makes her disposition, 
else why is it that we are repelled by some handsome faces and 
find the plain features of others attractive. 

Never marry a man to reform him. It is a hopeless under- 
taking. 

Women are the greatest hero worshippers. The sorriest 
rascal in the land has at least one woman who believes him en- 
dowed with superior qualities. 

By the time a woman is twenty-five she begins to have a fair 
understanding of men. Marriage under twenty is perilous. 

When all is told, the greatest prize that falls to man in life 
Is she who shares his daily cares, the loving, thoughtful wife. 



MEDITATIONS. 163 

EXTRACT FROM 
THE "MEDITATIONS ON RELIGION." 

O, man, thy greater experience will prove that nothing 
worldly can content thee. 

Wealth thou mayest have, and Honors, and the thousand 
luxuries attendant on these, but thy heart will still hunger. 

Worship not these idols which men have fashioned; but know 
that there is but one work truly deserving of thy powers. 

Live for others. 

Study, work, sacrifice thy life for the betterment of thy fellow 
men. 

If thou hast wealth distribute the greater part among them. 

If thou hast kindliness of manner and temperament, let it 
shine among men and make the world brighter. 

If thou canst teach religion and convince others of God's om- 
nipotence, teach with thy might. 

If thou canst write a great book, or paint a great picture, or 
put together a composition in music which will inspire men to 
nobility of thought and character, employ these wondrous 
talents. 

And if thou hast no genius of the intellect cultivate a genius 
of the soul. 

Perfect thyself and lead a good Hfe, and it will be a greater 
lesson than all the books, paintings and music in the world, to 
those around thee. 

And let nothing deter thee, but work with great spirit and 
cheerfulness. 

For God is waiting to reward His servant. 



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